


No Winter Lasts Forever

by momotastic



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Disabled Character, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sex, Snow, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momotastic/pseuds/momotastic
Summary: Upon his father’s death, Arthur learns of the existence of a small country hotel in the middle of the Brecon Beacons. Intent on finding out what the connection between Hunith Emmerson and his father is, Arthur travels to Wales days before Christmas. At the Dragon Lodge hotel, Arthur not only finds the answer to his question, he also meets Hunith’s son, Merlin. This meeting, however, raises a couple more questions because Merlin, as it turns out, is a beautiful enigma wrapped in mystery that Arthur intends to unravel in any way possible.





	No Winter Lasts Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, here it is, this year's Christmas Rom-Com. It got way longer than itended (big surprise) but at least I get to post it a couple of days before Christmas this time around.
> 
> Thank yous go to: [Tari_Sue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tari_Sue/pseuds/Tari_Sue) for being an excellent beta and Brit-pick, as well as [jiang](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jiang) for doing a last minute second round of betaing on this one. I appreciate both of your hard work so much, you have no idea! ♥♥♥
> 
> To find out what minor pairings are featured in this story, check out the note at the end of this work. Also check the notes if you want to know who the Minor/Canonical Character Death tags belong to.
> 
> This fic is inspired by all the Christmas movies where the lead character is terrible at love and then finds The One. Also by any Christmas movie with any kind of "ghosts", etc. (There's at least one on Netflix which is the original inspiration for this fic, but the story has only very little in common with that movie anymore and thus doesn't count as a fusion :p). Basically, this is every Christmas Rom-Com you can think of in one big movie, minus the Royalty AU trope. :') (There's always next year for that...)
> 
> The title is half a quote by Hal Borland.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **A quick note about how best to view this story:** It is highly recommended that you leave the Creator's Style turned ON if you're reading this story online.
> 
> If you want to download this fic as pdf to read on your e-reader/tablet/just to store for safety: Hit me up and I'll happily compile you a pdf that preserves the formatting of this story as best as possible. I'm going to add PDFs for all my fics, bit by bit, but if this is one of the ones where I haven't got round to it yet, just sling me a comment or find me through my [tumblr](http://momotastic27.tumblr.com), [LJ](http://momotastic.livejourna.com) or [DW](http://momo.dreamwidth.org), and let me know what you need.

❅❄❅❄❅  
8th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

“We have fun together, of course, but I don’t think you really want to be in a relationship,” Vivian says, leaning back in her chair. She looks absolutely stunning, like she always does. Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail, her black dress in perfect contrast to her pale skin.

Arthur likes Vivian. At first glance, she seems shallow, but once you look past that image, you find someone deeply caring.

Vivian runs her father’s company – has been running it for two years now – and Arthur thought that, above all else, this meant she’d understand why he works so much.

And she does, it’s just that with both of them working a lot, there’s not much time for romance and things, especially when one of them – Arthur – isn’t making enough time for it.

“You’re absolutely right,” Arthur says. “We do have fun together.”

Vivian frowns. “Arthur,” she says patiently. “You realise I’m breaking up with you, yes?”

Arthur nods. “I do, yes. But you’re only right about the fun bit. I do want to be in a relationship, I’m just abysmally bad at it. That’s what Elena told me, anyway, when she broke up with me.” Arthur should probably have been more upset about what Elena had said, and what Vivian’s saying, but the truth is, he’s heard it all before and he knows what he’s like. His exes aren’t wrong; he really is a ‘workaholic who doesn’t know how to prioritise his partner other above his job.’ (That’s how Leon had put it, anyway. Arthur agrees, even if he’s ashamed to admit it.)

He thinks for a moment. “There was also Leon, who said that I’ll be a great boyfriend once I figure out how to refocus even a fraction of the attention I pay my job on my partner.” Arthur nods to himself, then points at Vivian. “Leon’s incredibly smart. You’d probably like him.”

Vivian gives him a wry smile. “I really don’t need you to set me up with anyone. I’m more than capable of finding my own dates.”

Arthur laughs. “Oh, believe me, I know. It’s how you found me.”

They smile at each other, both remembering the night they met. Vivian had sat herself down in Arthur’s lap at a club and demanded he buy her a drink because they were the most beautiful people there and that meant that they should get to know each other.

The thing is, Arthur always likes the people he goes out with. And what he said about wanting to be in a relationship – it’s all true. Day in, day out, he sees how much his father loved his mother, and Arthur wants that. He wants that all-consuming desire to be with that one person who completes him. He had thought he could find it with each of his exes, but the spark never caught beyond first attraction.

At least he always manages an amicable break-up. He’s still friends with most of his exes. In fact, Elena’s now married to Oswald, whom Arthur dated several years ago and only for a few weeks, and Leon’s one of his best mates. Arthur hopes that he and Vivian can stay friends, too, or at least good acquaintances. He really thinks she would like Leon. And Morgana.

Actually, she and Morgana would be terrifying together, in all the best ways.

Arthur pays for dinner once they’re done and drops off Vivian at her place before driving himself home.

 _Maybe next time_ , he thinks as he slides into bed a while later. Arthur’s not given up quite yet.

❅❄❅❄❅  
9th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart~_

The blasted song wakes Arthur from his well-deserved sleep. Morgana must’ve got to his phone again while he wasn’t looking. She’s the only one who knows his passcode – and the only one who’d dare to fuck with his settings.

_~this year, to save me from tears~_

Arthur groans and reaches for the phone on his bedside table. The noise gets louder as he picks it up, and just as George Michael’s sighing out “special”, Arthur accepts the call.

“What?” he grumps. He already knows it’s Morgana on the other end. Not only is she the only one to change his ringtone, she’s also the only one cruel enough to call him this early on a Sunday morning.

“Arthur,” she says, and her voice sounds hoarse as if she’s been crying.

Arthur sits up in bed abruptly, suddenly wide awake.

“What?” he asks again, this time alert.

“It’s father,” Morgana says, and Arthur’s already climbing out of bed, trying to put on pants with just one hand. This would be so much easier if he didn’t sleep naked.

“What about father?” Arthur asks, finally able to pull the pants up over his hips.

Morgana exhales shakily, as if she’s fighting a sob. “He’s had a heart attack.”

Arthur’s stomach clenches in dread. Their father’s had several heart attacks over the last decade, each one taking a bigger toll on him than the last. Every time the hospital called, Arthur thought that this was the day his father died, and every time, like a miracle, Uther recovered.

“How bad?” Arthur asks as he steps into his trousers. They’re a bit wrinkled and there’s a small stain on one thigh, but he hardly cares about that now.

“Bad,” Morgana says. “The doctors don’t think he’s got long.” Her voice finally breaks on a sob, and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut to keep back the tears threatening to spill over.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he promises. The hospital isn’t far from Arthur’s place, and no one will care that he’s wearing yesterday’s clothes or that his hair will look a mess. The only time he takes is to brush his teeth before he’s out the door.

❅❄❅❄❅  
12th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

The funeral is as private as they can make it. Uther knew a lot of people, had a lot of business partners in his time who’ve all come to pay their respects.

Morgana and Arthur are there, and so is Morgana’s half-sister Morgause with her son Mordred. Arthur and Morgana might be the only blood-relatives Uther has, but Morgause and Mordred are as much family as they are.

Uther had many faults, but he’d worked hard to understand his children, be open-minded about their interests and their lives. The day Arthur brought home his first boyfriend, Uther had done his best to be welcoming and friendly, even if dinner had been the most awkward hour Arthur had had to endure.

At least Uther had tried and, over time, he didn’t even have to try anymore. He accepted Arthur for who he was.

Similarly, when Morgana asked about her mother and her mother’s family, Uther had told her everything he’d known and helped her find her sister Morgause. Morgause had run away from home when she found out her mother had cheated on her father, and that Morgana was only her half-sister. A few weeks later, Gorlois and Vivienne had died, and Morgana went to live with Uther and Arthur.

It had taken some time for Morgause to get past her distrust towards Uther for seducing her mother and ruining her family, but eventually Uther had been able to show her that he was genuinely trying to make amends for the mistakes of his youth.

While Arthur’s always had a hard time accepting that his father cheated on his mother, he’s glad he got Morgana out of it. The two of them fight more than they agree on anything, but Arthur loves his sister and would do anything for her, and he knows she feels the same way about him.

The coffin’s slowly lowered into the ground, and Arthur shovels the first bit of dirt into the grave before turning away and stepping aside, giving Morgana her turn to say goodbye.

❅❄❅❄❅  
17th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

“What do you mean my father was the silent partner in a country hotel?” Arthur asks. The funeral was three days ago, and now he, Morgana, and Morgause are sitting down with Uther’s solicitor to go over Uther’s last will.

That Morgana receives the Pendragon estate in addition to half its fortune surprises no-one as she’s been living there ever since she joined their family when she was nine. Morgause and Mordred receive Uther’s car collection – which will fetch a nice sum of money when they sell it, definitely enough to put Mordred through any school he wants. Arthur, of course, receives all of Uther’s shares of Pendragon Corp., as well as the other half of the Pendragon fortune, and a few personal items, like his art collection. And, apparently, Uther’s share in a small country hotel in Wales, which is the only real surprise Arthur’s had since his father died.

“Your father has been a silent partner in the estate for five years,” the solicitor explains. “It is maintained and run by one Hunith Emmerson. Your father made a substantial investment and has paid a monthly stipend to supplement costs until the hotel started turning a profit. The place is doing well on its own now, and a small percentage of its profit is returned to your father’s account every month.”

“And why does our father come to co-own a hotel in Wales?” Morgana asks using her patient voice. It means she’s just about to snap in anger.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” the solicitor says apologetically. Morgana looks like she wants to shake the answer out of him anyway, but Morgause puts a hand on her arm, and Morgana calms down. It still amazes Arthur that Morgause can have this effect on Morgana. Anything he’s ever tried to calm down Morgana only riles her up more.

“Fine,” Arthur says eventually, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s not even noon and he’s already got a headache. “Let’s complete the necessary paperwork so we can be done and get some lunch.”

The solicitor inclines his head, and pulls out several sheaves of papers. It takes them another hour before they finally get away. By then, Arthur’s headache has turned into a migraine.

❅❄❅❄❅  
19th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

Of all the things Arthur thought he’d be doing less than a week from Christmas, driving to a village populated by less than 250 people in the middle of the Brecon Beacons was not on his list.

At least so far the satnav hasn’t left him. He supposes that’s one thing to be grateful for. The same thing cannot be said for the road he’s travelling on. It’s full of holes, and slick with mud and rain thanks to the British winter living up to expectations and being wet and generally horribly grey.

Arthur clenches his jaw and drives on, carefully avoiding all of the larger potholes and driving much slower than he normally would to stay on the road rather than drive off into the woods.

From the papers he signed to take over co-ownership of the Dragon Lodge, he knows that his business partner, Hunith Emmerson, is a woman in her mid-fifties – the same age as his father.

The knowledge, more than anything else about this, gnaws at Arthur. Who is this woman, and how did she know his father? Does Arthur have even more half-siblings he knows nothing about?

God, he hopes not.

He loves Morgana with all his heart, but another half-sibling revelation might actually be one too many scandals for the family. Arthur’s not sure he could stand knowing that his father cheated on his mother more than once.

Then again, they might have met after Ygraine’s death.

But no, Morgana mentioned she’d heard the name Hunith before when she was researching her own mother. And Arthur knows that Vivienne and Ygraine had been friends at uni; Morgana had said as much, even though she didn’t tell Arthur most of the things she found out about her mother – probably she thought it was kinder.

Arthur had wanted to ask his father about his mother. He’d even done it, occasionally. Uther, however, never told him much, only about how beautiful she was, how kind, how much Arthur looked like her. Arthur knew that they’d been friends since childhood, and that that friendship later grew into love.

That, however, is all he knows about his mother and, unlike Morgana, Arthur never felt comfortable pressing his father for more details. It might be unfair to Morgana and her mother, but Arthur has always known that Uther loved Ygraine more, and that her loss pained him until the very end. That, above all else, is what had stopped Arthur from investigating Ygraine on his own, or nagging his father until he said more. Uther had been a good father, and Arthur hadn’t wanted to cause more heartache.

Maybe in the new year, once this whole country hotel thing was done and dealt with, Arthur could finally do some digging and find out more about his mother.

Arthur’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses the turn and he has to brake hard and reverse a few metres to turn into a smaller road that’s even less maintained than the one he’s been on for the last half hour.

Instead of mud and rain on the asphalt, there simply is no more asphalt. For a horrible minute, Arthur thinks he took the wrong turn after all, but then a sign announcing the distance to Ealdor at less than a mile appears – at least that’s what he gets from it once he remembers to look at the bottom half of the sign where information is provided in a sensible language.

He grits his teeth and carries on, all the while thanking his foresight to rent a Land Rover rather than try to take his Aston Martin.

When he finally enters the village, he’s definitely unimpressed. It’s just as small and quaint as he expected, albeit dressed up prettily in lights and decorations for the holiday. There is, however, no sign of the Dragon Lodge hotel. His satnav doesn’t know how to get him there, and after taking four turns up and down the only street, he decides to stop and ask.

He darts into the nearest place, a post office that seemingly also serves as tourist information centre and souvenir shop. He looks around the small room, taking in the postcard stands and the displays full of brochures. There’s a small display case filled with souvenirs, including a variety of Christmas decorations.

Arthur hopes someone here will able to tell him how to find the Dragon Lodge. After all, that’s what they’re supposed to do, right?

Behind the desk is a man roughly Arthur’s age with mousy brown hair in an unfortunate haircut that looks like he gave it to himself. The haircut alone wouldn’t be so bad, if the lad hadn’t opted to wear the ugliest orange plaid shirt Arthur ever had to lay eyes on and a scarf made up of what looks like a mismatched patchwork of several pieces of unevenly cut fabric in various shades of green.

Arthur probably doesn’t manage to hide his shock and mild disgust in the face of such a terrible fashion choices because the man’s welcoming smile drops off his face and he instead levels Arthur with a look that’s definitely closer to a glare. Ah well. Keep calm and carry on, and all that. Arthur’s English and not about to be intimidated by a Welsh village lad. The guy probably grew up among sheep and simply never learned how to properly dress himself. Arthur really oughtn’t to hold it against the poor man.

“Can I help you?” the lad asks, tone making it clear that he’d sooner kick Arthur back out into the rain than sell him so much as a postage stamp.

“I hope so,” Arthur says as nicely as he can, just to spite him. “I’m looking for the Dragon Lodge and I can’t seem to find it. You wouldn’t happen to be able to point me in the right direction, would you?”

The man stands up straighter and crosses his arms in front of his chest. His look hasn’t got any friendlier. Arthur’s sure he’s not imagining the mistrustful glint to the man’s eyes.

“What d’you want at the Lodge?” the man asks.

“I have business with the owner,” Arthur replies pleasantly, suppressing the urge to tell the nosy knob to mind his own bloody business.

The nosy knob watches Arthur for a few more seconds, but just as Arthur’s ready to give it up and take his chance asking in another shop, the man unfolds his arms and starts gesturing while he gives directions.

It sounds like it might be another half hour journey by car through the forest, if not more. Arthur steels himself for even worse roads and hopes that he won’t get lost in the wilds of the National Park. He’s much too successful and handsome to die here.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

It takes almost an hour to reach the hotel, and by the time Arthur climbs out of his car, he’s nearly ready to turn around and go back home. He wants a cup of tea more, though, and since he’s already here, he might as well meet Hunith Emmerson.

The Dragon Lodge at least looks lovely from the outside. It’s an old country villa, not too large to be imposing or unmanageable, but big enough to house a decent amount of guests. Even in winter, when there are likely to be fewer guests – if any – the gravel driveway is well maintained and trimmed by low hedges.

The facade of the house looks like it was renewed just a few years ago, and the same seems to be true for the roof.

 _Probably my father’s money_ , Arthur thinks. He’s not sure how he feels about this, but without meeting the owner he won’t know if his father was scammed or not.

Arthur ascends the few steps to the front door, noting with satisfaction that someone at least thought to add a wheelchair ramp to the entrance, and that it’s even mostly dry thanks to a roof overhang. He wonders if any disabled guests dare to venture out here, given the condition of the roads, but he commends Mrs Emmerson for the foresight and consideration.

Inside the entrance hall, Arthur’s immediately enveloped by warmth and the scent of tea and freshly baked scones. It smells absolutely heavenly and like just the thing he could use just about now. The lobby’s decked out in Christmas decorations. There’s a tree in one corner, and garlands and wreaths are fastened to the walls. Two stuffy arm chairs and a low table are grouped near the tree out of the draft of the door. It all looks unbearably comfortable and Arthur fights the urge to just sit down and fall asleep right there and then.

He even might have done it, if he hadn’t suddenly got the feeling that someone’s standing only a few steps behind him. He turns to see if anyone’s there, but all there is is a wall. There’s a large tapestry depicting a hunt hanging on it, and there’s definitely no one hiding behind it.

And yet, Arthur can’t shake the feeling that someone should be standing there.

He rubs the back of his neck, frowning at the tapestry. It must be the hunger and exhaustion that’s making him imagine things.

Still frowning, he turns back towards the front desk – and almost jumps a foot into the air in surprise. Behind the desk, as if he appeared out of nowhere, stands the same mousy haired lad from the post office.

The man doesn’t give any sign that he’s surprised or offended by Arthur’s reaction, which freaks out Arthur even more. Now that Arthur’s looking more closely, he realises that the man’s now wearing much nicer clothes: A clean, white shirt and dark grey slacks. Even his hair looks tidier than it did earlier.

_Where the heck did he pop up from? And is that the same man or his twin?_

Arthur slowly steps closer.

“Excuse me,” he says, trying not to sound as spooked as he feels. “Are you by any chance the same gentleman who gave me directions here?”

The man wears a polite smile.

“I’m Mr Knight, the concierge,” he says, entirely ignoring Arthur’s question. “How may I help you?”

His voice sounds similar to the post office man’s, but his accent isn’t as thick and the pitch higher. Arthur’s still not sure if it’s the same man or not, or possibly his identical twin brother, but he’s nothing if not able to recover quickly in the face of an unexpected turn of events.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon. I’m looking for Mrs Emmerson,” he says, mirroring Mr Knight’s polite smile.

“Of course. She’s taking tea in the sitting room,” Mr Knight says, gesturing towards the door that Arthur thinks he heard opening earlier.

Arthur nods and doesn’t wait for Mr Knight to leave the desk or say anything else before entering the room. It’s cosy inside, with several comfy looking armchairs and a large sofa placed around the room. The fireplace is alight and the entire room smells of burning wood, tea, and scones, and it’s decorated just as festively – if not more – as the lobby.

His mouth waters worse than it did when he first entered the building from the smell of food and tea, and he dearly wants to ask for a serving himself, but that would be rude when he hasn’t even met Mrs Emmerson yet.

She sits in an armchair by the fire, cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. Beside her, on a small table, sits a small pot that’s still steaming from the spout. A cake stand with an assortment of finger sandwiches, a scone, clotted cream and jam, as well as two small pastries sits next to the tea pot. Arthur’s stomach growls.

That, apparently, catches Mrs Emmerson’s attention, and she looks up.

Arthur watches as she sets her cup down, places a bookmark between the pages, and sets it aside. She folds her hands in her lap and smiles at him.

“You must be Arthur,” she says. Her voice is pleasant and warm. Arthur likes it right away.

She gestures for him to take the chair opposite her, and he sits slowly, setting his briefcase down next to the chair.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he says even though Mrs Emmerson already seems to know. “Am I correct in assuming that you’re Hunith Emmerson?”

“Please, call me Hunith,” she says, still smiling. “Would you like tea?”

Arthur tries to look less like a man ready to to kill for a cuppa as he nods and says, “Yes, please.”

Hunith fishes a phone out of her pocket and sends a text. Arthur had half expected her to ring a bell and summon a waiter, but of course the technological age makes bells obsolete. It’s also maybe a way of demonstrating to him that Hunith’s settled in the twenty-first century, as well as mistress of her own Lodge.

She’s barely put the phone away when the door behind Arthur opens and Mr Knight steps into the room, carrying a tray with another serving of what Hunith is having. Arthur wonders if he’d gone straight to the kitchen to fetch it, and had been waiting outside the door for Hunith to signal him.

Either that, or he’s a little bit magic.

Mr Knight places the tray on the table next to Arthur’s chair, then pours the tea for him, leaving enough room for milk and sugar should Arthur wish it, but not asking him his preference. Apparently, the servitude doesn’t extend that far.

Not that Arthur minds. He prefers fixing his own cup most of the time.

Hunith waits for him to finish stirring in the milk and sugar and watches him carefully while he takes the first sip.

It truly is as good as he had imagined, and a soft sigh escapes him before he can stop himself.

Hunith smiles self-satisfied, and picks up her own cup again.

“My condolences,” she says after they’ve spent a good minute silently sipping their tea. “Your father was a good man. I’ll miss him, and I’m sure many others will too.”

Arthur tries to read her expression, but he’s having trouble. There’s sadness there, as well as concern. He wonders how well Hunith knew his father, but that’s a question that can wait a few more minutes.

“Thank you,” he says at last. He picks up one of the sandwiches and eats is in a few quick bites. He fixes himself half a scone with cream and jam before taking a bite. Hunith is apparently content to let him eat before continuing the conversation, and Arthur can admit that he admires her composure. Most people can’t stand silence. They worry that it means something bad if every moment isn’t filled with words. Hunith, it seems, understands the power of silence, and she’s ready to wait him out.

Arthur finishes the entire scone and a second cup of tea before he wipes his mouth and fingers on a napkin, then leans back in the armchair.

“My father left his share in the Lodge to me,” he says matter-of-factly. “When his solicitor told me, it was the first time I had even heard your name. I don’t know why my father invested in your business, or how he even knows you, but I wanted to come and see this place for myself.”

He looks around the room, partly to give Hunith time to react and partly to get a closer look at it.

The wallpaper is possibly a little kitschy with the rose pattern, but not ugly. The furniture looks like it came from various homes, all cobbled together from whoever had a chair or table to give. No piece has the same pattern as another, and it ranges from a leather armchair in the far corner to the two chintz monstrosities he and Hunith are currently occupying.

It should look terrible, but instead it makes the room feel warmer. Homier.

Arthur swallows and turns back to Hunith, who’s been watching him.

“I saw you added a wheelchair ramp to the front entrance. I think that’s very commendable, but do you really get that many wheelchair users here? I’d think that a hotel this deep in the Brecon Beacons is mainly frequented by hikers and bird watchers.”

Hunith merely continues to look at him for a long moment. Then, slowly and deliberately, she turns her head to the side and even half turns in her armchair to look over her shoulder.

Arthur follows her gaze and stretches his neck to better see behind her. Now that he’s looking directly at it, he doesn’t know how he could’ve missed it. Just off to the side, not too far out of reach and only somewhat hidden by the armchair’s back and armrest, stands a wheelchair.

He stares at it for several long moments before finally tearing his eyes away and looking back at Hunith.

“Oh,” he says finally.

Hunith still isn’t saying anything, but she also doesn’t look upset in any way. Her face is void of any expression as she calmly looks back at Arthur.

“I apologise,” Arthur says at length. “It was insensitive of me to assume.”

Hunith sighs. “It was,” she says. “But you’re not the first one to do it, and you won’t be the last.” She offers him a smile that almost doesn’t look forced.

“May I ask—“ he begins, but breaks off right away. “No, of course not. I’m sorry, that was rude.”

Hunith’s smile is a little warmer this time.

“It’s natural to be curious. Most people want to know, and more than I’d like do ask insensitive and intrusive questions.” Hunith’s turned her head to watch the fire. She looks sad now, and Arthur doesn’t know if it’s because of other people being rude, or because she’s remembering something.

He cringes. He really ought to know better than to ask personal questions like that during a business meeting. It’s unprofessional and, worse, it’s rude. If Hunith had been anyone else, had they been meeting in London in an office building, he wouldn’t even have blinked at her disability.

“I’d still like to apologise. Again.” Arthur sighs. It seems he’s treading on everyone’s feet today. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have pried.”

A smile flickers across Hunith’s face, and she nods. “I accept your apology and I forgive you.”

Arthur swallows. The approval of a stranger shouldn’t mean so much to him, but this woman must’ve been important to his father for some reason, and Arthur wants to know more about that connection.

“Thank you,” he says.

He pours himself another cup of tea, emptying the pot, and sips it slowly. Once he’s drained it, he sets the cup down again, and lays his hands flat on the arms of the chair.

“I’d like to stay a few days,” he says evenly. “See the place properly, take a look at the books, talk to you some more. My father had his reasons to invest in this business and I can no longer ask him what they are. I’d like to find out for myself, and then decide what to do with my share.”

Hunith watches him during his announcement, and then nods. “I suppose that’s reasonable. We’ll make up a room for you and you may stay as long as you like. Do you know how long that’s going to be?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Are you closing for the holidays?”

“No,” Hunith says, shaking her head. “But we don’t have many guests during that time. Not any, usually.”

She darts a glance behind Arthur, lost in thought. She seems to come to a decision a moment later because she shakes her head, then nods to herself. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Hunith says finally.

“Thank you.” Arthur stands and offers her his hand. Hunith takes it, and they shake once before letting go.

“I’m going to get my luggage from my car. Sorry for interrupting your afternoon plans.”

She smiles up at him. “That’s alright. My book isn’t terribly interesting anyway.”

Arthur frowns. “What are you reading?”

Hunith sighs. “Oh, the usual. Privileged rich man doesn’t get what he wants so he goes on a spiritual journey to find the meaning of life. I’m sure that in the next fifty pages or so he’ll meet the love of his life, a young woman who’s just ‘different’.” She rolls her eyes and even mimes air quotes when she says “different”.

Arthur laughs before he can think better of it, and Hunith smiles back at him.

“You should talk to my sister and _her_ sister. They could recommend you some truly good books about interesting female characters.”

Hunith’s smile brightens even more. “I’ll have to take you up on that, Arthur. Thank you.”

They smile at each other, and Arthur almost feels comfortable enough to ask her about his father, but then the door opens and Mr Knight steps in to take their trays away.

Arthur turns and heads out to his car to fetch his suitcase, leaving Hunith to tell Mr Knight about Arthur’s plan to stay.

At least he can already see what his father must’ve liked about Hunith. Now Arthur just needs to figure out how much he had liked her – and if it had been returned.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Merlin always wishes he weren’t trapped in whatever plane of existence he’s on, but these last couple of days have been especially hard on him.

He’s seen his mum mourn the death of another close friend and even though Will has done a great job at supporting her, Merlin wants to be the one who hugs her and kisses her cheek to soothe the pain. Now, just a week after they’ve received the news, some posh prat prances into their lives and doubts the legitimacy of their business.

Merlin follows the prat upstairs to his room. It’s one of the nicest ones they have, with a large canopy bed, fake fireplace, spacious desk tucked into a corner under a window, and a massive wooden wardrobe that could be straight out of a fantasy novel. Merlin had tried more than once to find the mystical land hidden inside it when he was younger.

The prat looks duly impressed with the room, and Merlin can’t help the smug smile. The Dragon’s Lodge has always been gorgeous, inside and out, but Merlin can admit that Uther’s money has gone a long way to restore the old splendour.

He watches as the prat unpacks his suitcase. It looks like he brought enough clothes to stay at least a week – which means he might be here for Christmas. Great. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he came at all, why does he have to ruin their holidays, too?

Merlin huffs in annoyance, and suddenly the prat’s head snaps around and he’s looking almost directly at Merlin. It’s the same as earlier in the lobby when the prat had turned towards Merlin just as Merlin had entered the room.

Earlier he’d called out to the prat and waved, but there had been no response to what Merlin was saying, nor any traction of Merlin’s movements by the prat’s eyes.

And yet, Merlin cannot help but hope that maybe it’s going to work this time – that someone’s going to see him.

“Can you see me?” he asks, waving his hand a little.

The prat continues staring at him for just a few more seconds, then sighs and shakes his head.

“You’re seeing things,” the prat tells himself, and goes back to hanging up his suits in the wardrobe.

Once all the luggage is dealt with, the prat loosens his tie and takes it off, dropping it onto the bed carelessly. He’s just opened a few buttons on his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers, when his phone starts to ring.

Merlin’s eyebrows raise at the ringtone. He wouldn’t have pegged the prat for a fan of Wham!

The prat rolls his eyes at the screen, but slides his fingers across to unlock it and take the call.

“I’m still alive, Morgana, no need to send rescue troops.”

Merlin snorts in derision. Whoever this Morgana is, they were probably hoping the prat would go missing.

“Yes, I’ve arrived,” the prats says warily. He sits down on the edge of the bed and then lets himself fall backwards. Merlin tries not to notice how nice his blond hair looks against the dark red linen, but he fails spectacularly.

So what if the prat is incredibly attractive? It’s not like that makes him less of a prat. Nor could it ever go anywhere, what with Merlin being trapped wherever he is for most of the year. Besides, posh gits like that don’t go for Welsh country boys like Merlin.

“No, it’s a lovely place. Charming, honestly. And you can see where father’s money went. The place was renovated and remodelled in the last couple of years,” the prat says. He’s propping a socked foot up on the bed now, and Merlin thinks he should probably leave before his thoughts take a more dangerous turn.

“She’s alright. Father’s age, more or less. Sweet. And in a wheelchair.”

Merlin stops and turns back towards the prat. He’s talking about his mum, and Merlin needs to know what he’s thinking and how much danger they are in. Merlin will be able to talk to his mum in less than two days. He can warn her, even if she won’t approve of the way he got the information.

“I don’t know, Morgana. I don’t think she’s faking it. You know how hard it would be to keep up a charade like that. And she didn’t know I was coming, so how would she have known to fake it? Just look at how difficult it is for Morgause to hold on to the benefits for Mordred, a disabled _child_. Do you think it’d be any easier for a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair if it weren’t real? And father certainly would’ve been able to see through a lie like that.”

There’s a part of Merlin that’s always angry at how much his mum has to go through in order to convince the government that she’s really disabled and needs the benefits, and it’s that same part that’s now angry at the prat and this Morgana person for ever doubting his mum in the first place.

Unfortunately, there’s also the part inside of him that acknowledges that from the prat’s – Arthur’s – perspective, it must look sketchy. From what he overheard in the sitting room, Arthur never even knew that Merlin’s mum existed, let alone that she had any connection with Uther Pendragon. To learn this after your father has died must’ve been a shock. Merlin tries to be sympathetic and to see things from Arthur’s point of view.

“I’m going to stay here for a bit,” Arthur goes on. Whatever the other person says makes him sigh heavily and he sits up again, pressing the ball of his free hand against the side of his forehead.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I’ll stay for Christmas. It depends on how far I get with the books and all that. I’d rather not have make the journey again in the new year if I can help it.”

Arthur grimaces at his knees as Morgana says something on the other end. A moment later, he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips together, but Merlin can still see the way his hand shakes. He swallows thickly.

“I know, Gana. It’s— I think because he won’t be there for Christmas, I can’t be either. It all happened so fast, and I need some time away.”

When Arthur wipes at his eyes with his free hand and takes a shaky breath, Merlin finally exits the room to leave him to the rest of his conversation in peace.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Arthur has dinner alone that night. He doesn’t feel like company, and Hunith didn’t offer any, so he eats in the dining room by himself. The food’s excellent, and he makes a mental note to tell Hunith so tomorrow.

He regrets not asking for her to join him about three bites into his meal. All by himself as he is, there’s too much quiet, and he ends up thinking back to the earlier conversation with Morgana. They’re not the kind of people who get weepy in front of each other, but they’ve certainly learned to share their feelings when necessary. It’s just that Arthur sees no necessity in telling her how adrift he feels without their father, since she won’t be able to do anything about it. What’s the point of sharing his feelings when she can’t help anyway?

Arthur’s sure she knows anyway, and probably feels similarly. He wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t want to be at home for Christmas without their father. It’s all too fresh, and having a family Christmas doesn’t sound the least bit appealing at the moment.

They’d only end up getting drunk and crying on each other’s shoulders while thinking about all the times that they’ve spent Christmas with father. Arthur would much rather be here, where there’s work to distract him.

He clears his plate in less than twenty minutes and heads back up to his room for the night.

The room was certainly a surprise. It’s beautifully furnished and gives the place more a feeling of a romantic interpretation of the middle ages than the Victorian era that the building’s clearly from. Arthur has to admit that he likes it. It makes him feel a little bit like a king in his castle, staying here in the middle of nowhere.

He strips off his clothes and hangs the suit up before heading into the bathroom. The bathtub is enormous, and Arthur’s been wanting to take a bath ever since he spotted it. Morgana’s call was what had stopped him from doing so earlier, but there’s nothing stopping him now.

It takes a while to fill the tub, so Arthur wanders around his suite in his pants, picking up the book he brought and checking his phone for any last messages before he turns it off for the evening. He’s about to slip off his pants, thumbs already hooked into the waistband, when he again feels like someone’s watching him.

Arthur shivers with discomfort and keeps his pants on for the moment. He goes into the bathroom to turn off the tap, but then comes back into the suite. He’s sure that no one’s there. He’s been here the whole time, he didn’t hear anyone enter, and there aren’t that many places to hide.

Nevertheless, he checks under the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind all the curtains, and even under the heavy desk under the window.

Nothing.

The feeling’s gone by the time he’s finished searching, and Arthur resolves to check with Hunith if they’ve installed cameras in the rooms for any reason.

He double-checks that the door to his room is locked, then shuts and locks the bathroom door firmly before finally stepping out of his pants, and sliding into the hot bath.

It is, as expected, entirely perfect and thoroughly relaxing.

❅❄❅❄❅  
20th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

Arthur spends the morning going over Hunith’s books. On first glance, it all looks to be above board and perfectly balanced, and Arthur hopes that a closer inspection will confirm the impression. However, he’s done enough work for a morning by going over five years of financial history, and he desperately needs a break, some food, and definitely some fresh air.

When he gets to the sitting room, Hunith’s off to the side, watching as Mr Knight gives instructions to half a dozen men who’re setting up a massive Christmas tree in the corner furthest from the fire. It’s a gorgeous tree, evenly grown and cut at the perfect height for the room. It draws the eye without overpowering everything else.

The back of Arthur’s neck is prickling with the feeling of being watched again, but he doesn’t turn around to check if someone’s standing behind him. As far as he knows, no one entered the room after him, and everyone inside the room is watching the tree.

“That’s a fine tree,” Arthur comments, and Hunith turns her head to smile at him.

“It is, isn’t it? The rangers cut it, and the boys from the village are sweet enough to help set it up since it’s so big.” She smiles fondly at the so-called boys. As far as Arthur can see, four of them are at least in their mid or late twenties, and the other two are well over forty.

“We’re only doing it for the food,” a guy with long hair and a beard calls over his shoulder as he steadies the tree.

“Shut up, Gwaine,” says a man who looks to be at least a head taller than Arthur himself, and twice as broad. “We’re doing it for Hunith and Merlin.”

Murmurs of agreement from the other men echo the sentiment, and Arthur’s left to wonder if “Merlin” is Mr Knight’s first name.

“Well,” Arthur says when Gwaine kneels down to tighten the screws in the tree stand now that it’s perfectly upright and in position. “I was wondering if there’s anything for lunch, or if I should find my way back into the village.”

He grimaces unhappily. The rain has let up today, but he doesn’t cherish trekking an hour back into the village for food.

“Oh, no, there’s lunch,” Hunith promises. “Gwaine wasn’t entirely wrong about that.”

She winks at Arthur, and then turns around to leave the sitting room, apparently done watching what happens to the tree.

Mr Knight instructs a young black man called Elyan to find the vacuum cleaner to tidy up the floor where countless needles have fallen, and another man called Lancelot is asked to get the boxes with the decorations from the attic.

“Take Gwaine,” Mr Knight says. “He’ll be less annoying far away from me.”

“Love you, too,” Gwaine calls back, and sticks his tongue out.

As he and Lance pass Arthur by the door, Gwaine stops and rakes his eyes up and down Arthur’s body. Arthur feels a prickle of discomfort at the base of his spine, not unlike the one he felt last night. He’s reminded to ask Hunith about cameras in the rooms.

“And who are you?” Gwaine asks, tone suggestive.

“Out of your league,” Elyan says as he re-enters the room, vacuum cleaner in hand.

Everyone except Arthur laughs, and then Lancelot slaps the back of Gwaine’s head. “Stop flirting. Your husband is right there.”

Gwaine shrugs. “‘S not like Percy would mind.”

Lancelot rolls his eyes, and literally drags Gwaine out of the room by the scruff of his neck. A moment later, the hunk is standing in front of Arthur, hand outstretched.

“I’m Percy, Gwaine’s husband. Sorry about him, he’s… Well. He is what he is.” Percy grins at him, and Arthur reaches for his hand to shake it without even thinking about it.

“I’m Arthur,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“You staying at the Lodge for the holidays?” Percy asks, turning back to look at the tree, eyeing it critically as if to make sure they really did a good job. Somehow Arthur doubts that Mr Knight would’ve let them get away with anything other than perfection.

“Probably, yes,” Arthur says.

Percy nods. “Good choice. Christmas is always a little magical around here. Merlin visits and Hunith’s always so happy when he’s here.” Percy smiles warmly, his eyes going soft. “It’s too bad he can’t stay longer.”

Arthur supposes Merlin isn’t Mr Knight’s first name, then. Probably a relative, or a friend, then.

“Does he live far away?” Arthur asks finally while they’re watching Elyan go another round on the carpet to catch stray needles.

“Hm?” Percy asks. “Oh, you mean Merlin? Yeah, I guess that’s right.” Percy frowns, but doesn’t say anything else. Arthur doesn’t press him for details. He might ask Hunith later, if he feels like it, or he’ll just wait until this Merlin person arrives.

Gwaine and Lancelot return just a few minutes later, but instead of unpacking the boxes, they stack them neatly near the tree and leave them there.

When Arthur raises a brow in question, it’s Mr Knight who answers. “Hunith and Merlin always decorate the tree together.”

Arthur swallows thickly, and nods. At home, Morgana and Morgause will decorate the tree in a few days with Mordred’s help. They all used to do that together. Uther always placed the topper, and Morgana always turned on the lights. He wonders which one of them will top the tree this year, or if they’re going to leave the tip bare.

He forces a smile when Mr Knight won’t stop watching him. “A lovely tradition,” he says, and then looks away. Fortunately, he’s saved from further conversation – or inquisitive stares – by a bell summoning everyone to the dining room.

Hunith orders everyone to sit down, and then Mr Knight helps her place dishes before everyone. Arthur’s picked the same table as last night, to the side of the room, near a window. He sits a little distance away from everyone else, and no one tries to convince him otherwise. Arthur’s glad for it, honestly.

He takes his time with his food, only half-listening to the conversation on the other side of the room, but mostly watching the forest outside. The feeling of being watched hasn’t gone away yet, and by the end of the meal, Arthur’s itching to get outside. He asks Mr Knight for a map of the area to take a walk, and Mr Knight provides it with a polite comment about maybe considering a change of clothes.

Arthur, luckily, packed clothes he doesn’t mind getting mud on and, after a quick stop in his room to change, heads out into the forest to clear his head.

The air’s crisp and smells of wood and grass. For this alone Arthur would consider moving to the countryside, but his entire life is in London. What would he even do in a place like this? Hunith certainly seems to know what she’s doing, and the business doesn’t seem to suffer under a staff of just two permanent employees. Maybe she hires more people during the high season, but even so, all Arthur can do is keep books and improve businesses.

And if he moved to somewhere remote like this, he’d probably end up feeling lonely. All his friends live in London, and so does his family. He’d miss Morgana, as much as he’d be glad not to get into fights with her every other day. He’d miss seeing Mordred and telling him stories or playing footie with him. He’d probably even miss Morgause and her heavy eye makeup that seems to get thicker every time they meet.

He smiles to himself. He loves his family, and he feels bad for abandoning them now. Morgana must be just as sad and lost as him, but she has Morgause as her support while Arthur has no one else. Morgana might understand, but she’s terrible at giving comfort – even worse than Arthur. What they both need is someone who’ll be there for them right now. Morgause might appear cold and distanced to an outsider, but she cares about Morgana more than anyone else with the exception of Mordred, and Arthur knows that Morgause will be able to help Morgana get through this much better than Arthur ever could.

Which means that Arthur needs to figure it out for himself. His friends might all be amazing people, and they would try to help, but none of them really knew Uther, nor does Arthur allow himself to be vulnerable in front of them. After all, that’s why they broke up with him in the first place, and how they ended up being firmly placed in the “platonic” category, rather than the “romantic.” Maybe it should worry Arthur that his only friends are family members or people he used to date.

Arthur huffs a self-deprecating laugh as he reaches a fork in the road. He turns right and goes deeper into the forest.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Tonight, Arthur asks for Hunith’s company for dinner, and she gives him a pleased smile when she accepts. They have lamb stew, and it’s delicious.

“When I was a child, we had a housekeeper who made good stew, but never as good as this,” he tells her as he breaks off a piece of bread to dip it in the soup.

“What would you know?” Hunith teases. “You were a child with a much less refined palate. I’m sure the stew was wonderful and your under-developed taste buds just couldn’t appreciate it.”

Arthur laughs. She might be right about that, come to think of it.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m enjoying your food a lot.”

She inclines her head and takes another bite from her own bowl. “I’m happy to hear it. Merlin always says that he likes my food the most, too.”

Her expression turns a little sad. “It’s not like he’s had much to compare it to in recent years. In his situation, anything must taste wonderful.”

Arthur frowns. “Why’s that? Is he living off beans on toast while he studies far away?”

The corners of Hunith’s mouth turn up the slightest bit, but the smile’s still much too sad for Arthur’s liking. Something prickles at the back of Arthur’s neck, and he rubs it absentmindedly. It’s a feeling he’s getting used to already. He still hasn’t asked Hunith about CCTV for the place, but it’s not like he’s going to bring it up. The feeling subsides somewhat when he takes his hand away.

“No,” she says at length, then sighs, and puts her spoon down. “I think I should tell you about how I ended up in a wheelchair, and where my son spends his time when he isn’t… here.”

Hunith wrinkles her nose unhappily, shakes her head once, then nods.

Arthur just watches, slowly spooning stew into his mouth, as she squares her shoulders and sits up straighter in her chair.

“Five years ago, my husband Balinor, our son Merlin, and I were going the village to attend the Solstice festival. The weather was horrible, and none of us wanted to walk through the forest.” She turns her head to look out the window, only her reflection visible in the darkness behind the glass. “Balinor agreed to drive, but the asphalt was slick with rain, and it was cold enough to freeze, so the road wasn’t exactly safe. We went slowly, taking at least twice as long to reach the village than the walk would have taken.”

She sighs heavily, but never looks away from her reflection. Arthur wonders what she’s seeing, and if it is her own face at all.

“Something jumped out of the forest, and Balinor swerved to avoid it, whatever it was. I never even saw the ruddy thing, but I heard something howling only moments before. It sounded like a wolf.” She frowns. “There haven’t been wolves in Britain for centuries.”

Hunith shakes her head as if to dismiss the thought, then continues talking. “My husband lost control of the car, and the last thing I remember is that we went off the road, and the car turned over. I woke up in the hospital two days later.”

Hunith inhales shakily and closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, a tear runs down her cheek, and she makes no move to wipe it away. Arthur had stopped eating a while ago, and finally puts his spoon down as quietly as he can. His skin is prickling, as if the air’s charged with something. Arthur puts it down to the moment being loaded with emotion, and his own discomfort at Hunith’s tears and his inability to soothe them in any way.

“Balinor died in the accident,” she continues, voice much steadier than he would’ve expected. “He hadn’t had his seatbelt on, the daft man, and had gone through the windscreen. His body was found a few feet away from the car.” It sounds as if she’s recounting something she read rather than something she lived through.

 _She doesn’t remember_ , Arthur thinks. Hunith doesn’t know what happened after they went off the road, so it’s likely she’d have to have read a police report or something later. She’s recounting facts and, even though it’s her husband she’s talking about, she feels disconnected from the event that took him because she didn’t have to see it.

Arthur is glad about that. He can’t imagine what that would’ve been like. Knowing your husband died in a painful way and partly because of his own thoughtlessness is one thing. Having to relive it in your own memory would be quite different and much worse, Arthur assumes.

For a long while, Hunith says nothing, and eventually Arthur looks away from her face where silent tears keep streaming down her cheek. The hairs on his skin are all standing up, still reacting to the weird atmosphere of the room, and Arthur rubs his arms to discharge some of the energy.

“What happened to Merlin?” he asks quietly when his stew has stopped steaming, and is starting to form unappealing grease drops on the surface. He pushes the bowl away and places his arms on the table, leaning forward.

“He survived with not a scratch on him,” Hunith says, shaking her head as if in disbelief. “He was at my bedside when I woke up and wouldn’t leave. He told me that he doesn’t know how he survived, or why he wasn’t injured. He said he remembers cracking his head on the window, and that his leg broke in at least two places.” She shakes her head again, and then finally turns back to look at Arthur.

“Merlin disappeared a few days later. I was still in hospital, it was the middle of the night. We’d spent the whole holidays there, and New Year’s Eve. I slept for most of New Year’s Day and was up late even though I was supposed to have surgery the next day. Merlin had refused to go home for any length of time, just like before, so he was there in the bed beside me, sleeping, and then it happened.”

Hunith just looks at Arthur as if she’s waiting for him to ask “What?” so Arthur indulges her.

“He disappeared,” Hunith says.

“You mean he just left you? What kind of child leaves their parent when they’re in hospital?” Arthur asks, already outraged on Hunith’s behalf. If this is what Merlin did, Arthur’s not sure he even deserves being welcomed home every year for Christmas.

“No,” Hunith says, calmly. She reaches out to touch Arthur’s arm, a gesture clearly meant to soothe him. It’s not working as well, but Arthur does refocus on Hunith’s face, and waits for her to continue.

“I mean he literally disappeared. One moment he was sleeping the bed next to mine in the hospital, and in the next, he wasn’t there anymore. He just… winked out of existence like that.” She snaps her fingers.

Arthur pulls his arm out from under her hand and leans back.

“Yeah, right,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m too old for scary stories, Hunith. Save them for the kids.”

He pushes away from the table, ready to go up to his room and complain to Morgana or maybe Leon, but Hunith gives him such a look, that he stops and stays seated.

“I’m not lying, Arthur. I know it is difficult to believe – God knows that it took a while until your father did – but I’m telling you the truth. Every year, Merlin appears at midnight on Winter Solstice, and disappears at the end of New Year’s Day.”

She checks the old-fashioned clock hanging on the wall in the dining room. It’s a little after half past eight, Arthur notes. “He’s going to appear in the sitting room at midnight, and I intend to welcome him back when the time comes. You’re free to join me to see for yourself.”

Arthur gives her another sceptical look, then nods. “I’ll be there,” he says, and with that he finally gets up and goes back to his room.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Merlin’s hand is twitching as he stands in the sitting room, watching the clock slowly tick down to midnight. His mum’s by the fire, and Will’s not far from her, wearing another one of his atrocious plaid shirts.

That Arthur has joined them both is and isn’t a surprise. Merlin was there for his mum’s explanation during dinner, and he’d seen the disbelief on Arthur’s face. Even though he’d said he’d come, Merlin hadn’t truly believed it until Arthur had walked in two minutes ago, wearing what looks like soft pyjamas under an expensive robe. His hair’s a little mussed, and a pair of glasses sits on his nose. He’d look incredibly soft and approachable if it weren’t for the stern look on his face and the tightly crossed arms.

The last few seconds before midnight pass in what feels like slow motion, then Merlin feels as if everything shifts a little bit to the right, and suddenly, he takes a gasping breath filled with the scent of fire and resin. His feet feel heavy and he stumbles forward a step, reaching out to brace himself in case he falls.

He doesn’t. Before he can topple over, Will’s got his arms around him and is squeezing him tightly. Merlin can smell his cologne and sweat, and it’s so good to be held again.

“Will,” he croaks hoarsely, voice barely working after a year of disuse. Will just squeezes him tighter in response.

“Good to have you back, mate,” Will murmurs into Merlin’s hair. “Missed you.”

Merlin nods in agreement and then slowly pulls away from Will once he feels ready to stand up without falling over.

He does fall over, but sort of deliberately, so he can hug his mum.

“My boy,” she says, sounding close to tears. Her hand’s cupping the back of his neck, and she’s stroking his hair gently. “I’m so happy to see you.”

He stays on his knees to hug her until his legs go numb. Eventually, Merlin pulls away, but he doesn’t try standing up right away, sure that his legs won’t support him.

Arthur’s still there, Merlin discovers a moment later. He’s there, and he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi,” Merlin says, voice still a little scratchy from disuse. “Believe us now?”

Arthur’s eyes go wide, but he shows no other sign of surprise. Then, slowly, he unfolds his arms, nods at Merlin, then at Hunith, and then turns and walks out of the room.

Merlin stares after him for a moment, then turns to look at his mum.

She’s still smiling brightly at him, and there are tears running down her face.

“My sweet boy,” she says, and Merlin goes back to hugging her because he finally can again.

❅❄❅❄❅  
21st December  
❅❄❅❄❅

On the upside, the feeling of being watched has finally stopped. No more prickling at the back of his neck, thank God.

On the other hand: he’s now seen a person appear out of thin air.

When Arthur had come here, he’d expected to uncover a scam, not discover the existence of magic.

Magic. How’s that even possible? And if his father knew, why had he never said anything?

Arthur barely sleeps that night. His thoughts keep going in circles. How can a person disappear like that? How can they survive a disastrous car accident without any injuries? It’s just not possible. Or it shouldn’t be. And yet, Arthur had watched as Merlin had suddenly materialised right in front of his eyes where before there had been nothing but thin air.

He’s sure his disbelieving stare could be excused simply as someone seeing something incredible happen in front of their eyes. No one would expect that it had anything to do with how pretty Merlin looks.

Arthur hadn’t given any thought to Merlin’s appearance since he learned of his existence, but if he had, he would not have imagined pale skin, dark hair, and eyes that are so blue that Arthur could tell their colour despite the low light in the sitting room. Nor could he ever have dreamt up those cheekbones.

When it’s time to get up and go get breakfast, Arthur spends more time than usual getting ready. The circles under his eyes aren’t too bad yet, and he doesn’t look too much like he hasn’t slept all night, thankfully.

The same cannot be said for Hunith and Mr Knight. When Arthur enters the dining room to see what’s for breakfast, they’re sitting at a table on either side of Merlin, listening to him talk. Merlin looks to be wide awake, but his mother and Mr Knight both seem to be ready to fall asleep right where they’re sitting.

Arthur clears his throat awkwardly, not wanting to intrude on their conversation, but also not intending to stay unnoticed and eavesdrop.

Hunith jumps and then turns to look at him.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time. I’ll quickly make you some breakfast.”

She grabs the wheels of her chair and moves away from the table, but Arthur shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. You had more important things to do.” He offers her a smile. “I can just go into the village and get breakfast at the café I read about in one of your brochures. It probably won’t be as good as your porridge, but needs must.”

Hunith laughs softly. “Freya makes a wonderful breakfast,” she promises. “Merlin, you should go with him. She’ll want to see you, and you can show Arthur the way through the forest.”

“Sure,” Merlin says and gets up from the table. “Are my things in my room? I should probably get a change of clothes.” He looks down at the jeans and red shirt he’s wearing and grimaces. “A year in these clothes really is too long.”

Hunith smiles at him. “Go, but hurry up. Arthur shouldn’t have to go without food any longer just because I forgot all about him the moment you showed up.”

Merlin grins at Arthur, then. “Sorry, Arthur. I’ll try not to distract her from feeding you again.”

Arthur smiles back. “I’d appreciate that.”

Merlin actually winks at him, then exits the room, followed by Mr Knight. Arthur stares after them for a long moment.

Hunith, meanwhile, cracks an enormous yawn.

“You should sleep for a while,” Arthur suggest. “I’ve got a feeling you’ve been up all night talking to your son.”

Hunith smiles. “And you’d be right. Merlin’s always got so much energy when he comes back. Mind you, he also ate half the contents of my pantry, too.” He expression is incredibly soft and indulgent. Arthur’s sure she cooked Merlin’s favourite foods just for the occasion, and made sure her boy could eat the moment he got back.

“I’ll be happy to take him to breakfast. The villagers will be happy to see him too, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, definitely,” Hunith says. “They all know what’s going on, of course. It’s hard to hide something like this from them.”

Arthur nods thoughtfully. “It’s nice that all of you are so close. Like one big family that’s always ready to help each other out.”

“Yes,” Hunith says. “That’s right.”

She reaches for him, and Arthur steps close enough that she can take his hand.

“You’re a good man, Arthur, just like your father. If you like, I’ll tell you more about him whenever you want. I know you must have questions about why he helped me after the accident, or how I even know him, and I’d be happy to answer them.”

She squeezes his hand, then lets go just before Merlin bounds back into the room, this time without Mr Knight in tow.

“All ready!” he announces. He’s bundled up in a dark green parka and big, red, woollen scarf, feet in sensible boots. Arthur’s suddenly aware that he’s not gone to get his own coat or shoes yet, and excuses himself to go and put on more clothes.

Five minutes later, Merlin’s guiding him to a small path through the forest. Arthur’s sure that they’re going to get lost, but Merlin leads with unerring certainty and after a walk that took less than fifteen minutes, they step out of the forest and find themselves on the edge of the village.

“Freya’s is this way,” Merlin says, and tugs on Arthur’s arm that he hasn’t let go of since they exited the Lodge and he dragged Arthur excitedly towards the forest.

They pass the post office, where Arthur spots an older woman behind the counter rather than the surly lad.

“That’s Finna,” Merlin supplies, and waves cheerfully at the woman, who beams at him and waves back with just as much enthusiasm.

The next shop window is that of a flower shop. An elderly woman is arranging bouquets, and Merlin stops to wave at her, too.

“Alice. She’s my godfather’s wife,” Merlin says unprompted, then drags Arthur off further up the street.

They pass a butcher where a fearsome looking blonde is cutting filets off a big slab of meat.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, nodding along to Arthur’s grimace. “That’s Sophia. Generally sweet and lovely, but put a knife in her hand and she becomes scary.”

He shrugs and pulls Arthur along.

There’s a bakery right next to the butcher’s, and the dark-skinned woman arranging pastries looks much less murderous.

Merlin actually pops his head into the bakery to say hello to her, and she comes running around the counter to hug him tightly. For that, Merlin has to let go of Arthur at last.

“Ow, Gwen, you’re breaking my ribs,” Merlin wheezes, and Gwen lets go of him instantly.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin, I’m just so happy to see you,” Gwen says. She looks close to tears, actually, but Arthur is not going to be the one to call her on it.

“Yeah, me too. We’re on our way to Freya’s to get some breakfast. You already delivered there this morning, right?”

Gwen smiles excitedly at him. “I did! She’s got all the usual things, but wait, I have something for you.”

She runs back into the shop, only to reappear with a parcel wrapped in grease paper.

“I made your favourite,” she says conspiratorially. “I knew you’d be by today some time, so I made it fresh this morning.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide, and his mouth stretches into another one of those broad, exuberant smiles that make Arthur’s heart beat faster.

“You’re the best!” Merlin exclaims, and then he’s hugging Gwen again, probably breaking her ribs in return now.

Finally, Merlin lets go, and without introducing Arthur to Gwen, or vice versa, drags him off, arm firmly tucked around Arthur’s again.

“What’s in the parcel?” Arthur asks, and it was clearly the right question because the incandescent smile is back. Arthur’s starting to get worried about his blood pressure at this rate.

“Gwen’s chocolate cake. It’s a family recipe, and Gwen says there are at least four secret ingredients.” Merlin’s eyes shine with excitement as he says it, while Arthur just tries not to think too hard about Merlin slowly eating chocolate cake.

They’re walking past a bookshop when Arthur sees the angry lad again. He’s dressed in similarly terrible clothes. Another plaid shirt, the same blue one as last night when they welcomed back Merlin, and the same hideous scarf as well. His trousers are dark slacks, at least, and his hair looks more orderly this time around, but overall it’s the same terrible fashion ensemble. Arthur has no idea what made him think that it could be the same person as the immaculately put together Mr Knight from the hotel.

Merlin has stopped as well, and is waving and grinning at the angry lad who’s looking less angry today but still scowling. Arthur attempts a smile and a wave of his own, but however it looks, it must’ve been terribly awkward, because the angry lad rolls his eyes and turns away.

A snort of laughter at his side finally makes Arthur move again, and he turns away to walk the last few metres to the café.

“Will doesn’t seem to be a fan of yours,” Merlin says as they approach the door. “To be fair, he’s not a fan of any outsiders coming to the village. He’s just usually better at hiding it.”

Arthur winces. “I believe I insulted his appearance when we first met, and didn’t apologise.”

Merlin just shrugs. “‘S not like I don’t tell him to buy a new wardrobe every time I see him wearing that stuff.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to laugh. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks he could use a makeover.”

They’re both laughing as they push open the door to Freya’s café. They’ve barely stepped inside when a small, brunette tornado barrels into Merlin and almost tackles him to the ground. It takes Arthur a moment to realise that the tornado is actually a young woman – presumably Freya – and she’s indeed happy to see Merlin.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that everyone in the village is excited to see him. Hunith had said that they’re a tight-knit community, so it stands to reason that everyone here is happy to see Merlin whenever they get the chance. The men yesterday even dragged an enormous tree out to the lodge because they knew Merlin would enjoy decorating it.

Several minutes later, Freya has let go of Merlin, and seated both of them at her best table – or so she claims. Arthur will admit that the seat does offer a perfect view of not only the entire café, but also the street outside. It would be the perfect spot for people watching – if any were about.

Arthur’s request for some kind of menu is waved off by Freya, and instead she brings them a selection of pastries – both sweet and savoury – coffee, tea, and a large serving of scrambled eggs with bacon and toast, entirely unbidden.

“Who’s going to eat all that?” Arthur asks once Freya’s finally set down a tray with a selection of butter, cream, and jams. She’s even dragged over a second table because there wasn’t enough room for everything on the one they have.

She laughs as if Arthur has made the funniest joke, and then walks away.

Arthur turns a disbelieving stare on Merlin – who’s already demolished an entire pastry and is halfway done with another one.

Right. It would seem that _Merlin_ is going to eat all of this, and Arthur will have to hurry or he won’t get anything.

Once most of the food is gone, and Arthur’s leaning back in his chair, leisurely sipping at his third cup of tea, Merlin finally slows down and eventually pushes his plate away with just a few crumbs left on it.

“I’m impressed you have room for all of that,” Arthur comments, looking over Merlin’s skinny frame.

Merlin shrugs. “It’s always like that when I come back. I eat a lot the first two or three days. It’s great, honestly. I don’t need food or anything when I’m… away. I can’t touch or smell anything either, so eating isn’t even an option. I’m always ravenous when I come back, and I don’t mind really. When you spend most of your time only watching other people eat, you really long for the smell and taste of food, or the way it feels to be hungry and then stuffed full.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Arthur tops up Merlin’s tea cup, and when the pot’s empty, Freya brings them a new one without being asked.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Merlin takes Arthur’s arm again the moment they step out of the café. It’s not that Arthur minds – quite the opposite – but he does wonder. Not many people are that tactile, nevermind with him.

Arthur wonders if Merlin’s disregard of personal space has more to do with where he spends the majority of his time or with Arthur himself.

It’s that thought that finally prompts him to ask: “What’s it like when you’re… gone?”

He doesn’t know how else to phrase it. He doesn’t know exactly where Merlin is when he’s invisible, or if it even is a simple case of being invisible.

(Arthur will not dwell on the fact that nothing about being invisible should ever be ‘simple’, because that’s just not his reality anymore as of ten seconds past midnight.)

Merlin’s quiet for a long time. It’s disconcerting, especially considering that Merlin’s barely shut up since they stepped out of the lodge that morning.

“It’s a lot like being here,” he says eventually. “And also very different.”

Arthur possesses enough tact not to point out that that doesn’t make sense.

“How do you mean?” he asks instead.

Merlin blows a raspberry. “It’s— Hm. I’m still sort of here, you know. I can walk around the lodge, watch what’s going on, hear everything.” Arthur feels Merlin shrug beside him. “Mum leaves the telly on for me sometimes, or puts on an audiobook in my room so I’m not bored at night. But I can’t interact in any way. She doesn’t know if I’m around, if I’m actually watching television, or if I’m there to catch the start of the audiobook, and if I don’t, then I can’t tell her to start it over. I can’t press the buttons myself either, and I can’t pause and then come back later.”

He sighs. “It’s… I like that she’s trying to make it easier for me, but it’s often just a reminder of what all I can’t do.”

Arthur swallows. “I’m sorry. Have you ever considered working out a schedule while you’re here? Ask her to turn the television on only at certain times of the day, for certain programmes. Or maybe set a time for when she’ll put on a chapter of the audio book for you?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, smile audible in his voice. “We’ve become better at coordinating it. It’s still awkward and I wish I could decide for myself what to watch and when to watch it instead of being dependent on a specific schedule premeditated with my mum.”

“I can see your point,” Arthur admits.

“But that’s really not the worst part,” Merlin adds after another few minutes of silent walking.

When he doesn’t elaborate, Arthur asks quietly: “What’s the worst part?”

“I don’t sleep. Can you imagine what that’s like, existing in a world without sleeping? It’s not even that it’s incredibly boring at night. I miss having dreams, or the feeling of being drowsy just before you fall asleep. Or those few moments in the morning when you’re waking up but you’re still mostly asleep, too, and everything is foggy and warm and perfect.”

He squeezes Arthur’s arm more tightly. “That, and not being able to eat or even smell any of the food my mum puts on the table,” he adds, clearly intending to lighten the mood while Arthur’s still trying to work past the lump in his throat to form words of comfort.

“Hey, at least I can watch life go on around me. I can’t imagine not knowing what’s going on for so long, only to be plunged back into the world for twelve days,” Merlin says, shuddering slightly.

Arthur fights the urge to put an arm around him, but then he realises that there’s no reason to resist, since Merlin would most likely welcome the additional point of contact. So, Arthur draws his arm out from where it’s tucked against Merlin’s side, and instead drapes it around Merlin’s waist, pulling him closer. If he can’t find the words to make it better, he’ll let a gesture speak.

Merlin wraps an arm around Arthur in return, slipping his hand into Arthur’s coat pocket. Arthur smiles, and they keep walking towards the Lodge.

He absolutely doesn’t mind indulging Merlin’s need for touch and conversation, and he’ll happily take him to eat all the things if he gets to watch him lick the spoon clean, and hear the noises he makes when he bites into something delicious. It’s not like it’s a hardship to indulge him – especially not if it makes Merlin happy and lets him enjoy his time in their world a little more.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

“We always decorate it in red and gold,” Hunith points out.

Merlin’s unpacked all the ornaments for the Christmas tree and is eyeing the selection critically. Arthur’s cosied up in an armchair nearby, which offers a perfect view of the tree without being too close to it. It also offers a perfect view of Merlin’s arse any time he bends down to check another box.

“I know,” Merlin says, rooting around in another box. “Which is why I think we should do something else this year.”

Hunith looks to Arthur, eyebrow raised. Arthur – thankfully not currently occupied with ogling her son’s bum – shrugs, and then pretends to go back to reading his book.

“You’re the one who insisted on keeping with the red and gold,” Hunith says sweetly. “You said it’s more festive.”

“Well, I want something else this year,” Merlin says, half swallowed by a box. A moment later, a loud “Aha!” startles Arthur badly enough that he almost drops his book. Luckily, no one saw.

“What?” he asks tersely.

“Found it,” Merlin says, straightening and turning towards Hunith and Arthur. In his hands he’s holding a large wooden box.

A soft gasp draws Arthur’s attention away from the box in Merlin’s hand to Hunith. She’s got her hands pressed to her mouth and is staring at the box with wide eyes. Arthur’s got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Mum?” Merlin asks, expression gone from bright joy to worry in an instant.

He sets the box down carefully and moves closer to his mother, crouching down in front of her and putting his hands on her thighs.

“Mum, I know it’s hard, but it’s been so long since we used them. Don’t you think it’s time?” he says softly.

Arthur wonders if he should leave. This is clearly a fragile moment for them and his presence is likely unwelcome. Unfortunately he can’t leave without drawing attention to himself as he has to pass both of them to get to the door.

“I don’t know,” Hunith says shakily. “The last time I saw them I thought I had lost both of you for good. I don’t think I could look at them and not remember that.”

Merlin draws in a sharp breath, and then wraps his arms around his mother, holding her tightly. His face is buried against the side of her neck, and he’s murmuring something Arthur can’t understand.

Arthur uses the opportunity to slip out of the room as quietly as he can. Outside in the lobby, he turns left and heads into the small library.

A little while later, he’s just picked out a book on regional folklore when the door opens.

Arthur cranes his neck to look around the shelf, and is surprised to see Merlin leaning against the closed door, furiously wiping at his eyes. Arthur has no desire to embarrass Merlin, but he doesn’t want to be stuck behind a shelf and witness Merlin’s breakdown any more than he had wanted to intrude on him and Hunith earlier.

He clears his throat and steps out from between the shelves.

Merlin startles, but quickly catches himself. He even offers Arthur a weak smile.

“Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with all the crying and sadness.”

Arthur shrugs. “It’s an emotional time for the both of you.”

He’s got a pretty good idea what Hunith’s tears had been about, and he can’t say he blames her. He himself is avoiding going home this year because everything there reminds him of someone he loved and lost. Hunith hasn’t escaped the same way, and it has been years, but he supposed grief like that never really fades and the smallest things can set it off.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, pulling Arthur out of his thoughts. “It’s— Well. It’s the ornaments. My dad made a box full of them and we used to hang them on the Christmas tree. I suppose I can see why mum doesn’t want them.”

He rubs a hand over his face and thunks his head back against the door.

“But you’d like to put them up again,” Arthur points out. “To remember your dad?”

“Yeah,” Merlin admits, still staring up at the ceiling rather than look at Arthur.

“I understand,” Arthur says. “I’m avoiding going home because I don’t want to be reminded of my father. He died a few weeks ago, and I— I took the first chance I got to run away and avoid dealing with it.”

He sits in one of the cushy chairs and drops the book he picked on a nearby table.

“Right now I can’t imagine wanting to surround myself with reminders of him. It would hurt too much. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to do some things again that I used to do with him.”

He draws a deep breath and looks at Merlin, only to find him staring back at him.

“I think it’s great that you’re ready to remember him. You want to remember the good times, rather than wallow in grief. That’s good. Healthy.”

For a long time, neither of them says anything else, and then Merlin pushes away from the door and sits down in a chair next to Arthur.

“Thanks,” he says at length. “And I’m sorry you lost your father.”

Arthur tries to smile at Merlin, but he’s sure he doesn’t quite manage. “Thank you.”

They stay in the library, each silently lost in thought, until they’re called to lunch. When they leave, they walk closely enough that their shoulders brush with every step.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

The tree gets decorated in the afternoon, in red and gold. The wooden box is nowhere in sight, and Arthur assumes that Merlin put it away to spare Hunith any more reminders.

Not knowing what he’s missing, Arthur can fully appreciate the beauty of the tree as it is now. Red baubles, gold stars, and a lot of fairy lights adorn the branches. It’s a glorious display of holiday spirit, and Arthur’s suddenly disappointed that he missed his chance at decorating a tree himself this year.

He contemplates sending Morgana a picture, but he’s not sure he’s ready to receive one in return, or admit that he wasn’t actually involved in making it this pretty.

Once Merlin’s cleared away all the boxes, he lets himself fall down into the chair nearest to Arthur’s and sighs heavily.

“I love doing it, but it’s always so much work,” he complains. The effect is spoiled by the bright grin he’s sporting.

Arthur can’t help but smile in return. “Well worth the effort, though,” he says. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “I used to love going out and picking a tree with dad. I miss that part of the process, even though I don’t miss helping carry it in and setting it up.”

Arthur hums. “Telling someone which tree to cut certainly becomes more difficult when no one sees you pointing to one.”

“That,” Merlin agrees, “and I can’t leave the house or immediate surrounding area once I’m invisible.”

Arthur frowns and turns to look at him. “What?”

Merlin rolls his head to the side to look back at Arthur. “I can’t go far outside the house when I’m incorporeal. There’s like a barrier or something keeping me here. I can leave when I’m like this.” He gestures to all of himself. “But once I’m no longer on the same plane of existence as the rest of you lot, I’m pretty restricted.”

“That’s— I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs. “It is what it is, you know? At least I’m alive, for the most part.”

“Yes,” Arthur says quietly, turning back to look at the tree.

 _But what kind of life is it when you’re trapped in a place for 353 days of the year, and then stay there as well during the remaining twelve because it’s the only time to talk to your family and friends?_ he thinks.

He licks his lips. “Have you ever tried to find out what happened to you, and if it can be, I don’t know… reversed?”

“No,” Merlin says too fast, which means, that yes, he has. “It’s too dangerous. I could disappear completely, or die.” He shakes his head hard enough to be visible in Arthur’s peripheral vision. “It’s not worth it. I’d rather have this than nothing.”

Arthur doesn’t press the issue, but he silently disagrees with Merlin. If it were Arthur who was trapped like that, he’d rather end it one way or the other.

Hunith enters the room in that moment and, as has been the case all day, her face lights up the moment she spots Merlin slumped in the armchair.

And just then, Arthur understands what Merlin’s real reason is for wanting to stay right where he is rather than risk never coming back at all.

❅❄❅❄❅  
22nd December  
❅❄❅❄❅

Arthur wakes to frost flowers on the windows of his room. Beyond the glass he can see that the world has been plunged in white overnight.

He hadn’t expected to get snowed in like this. He’s more used to sludge and chaotic traffic when there’s snow in London, not this peaceful, frosty white stillness.

And yet, he’s absolutely delighted to see the world like this, unmarred and quiet.

Merlin, too, vibrates excitement all through breakfast, and no sooner has Arthur cleared his plate, does Merlin jump up and race to get dressed and go outside, easily drawing Arthur in with his enthusiasm.

They’re outside within minutes, and before Arthur’s even had time to breathe in the crisp winter air, a snowball hits him square in the chest.

“Hey!” he calls to Merlin, who’s brightly grinning at him and already forming the next snowball.

Arthur quickly ducks down and starts making his own while Merlin’s second snowball misses him by a wide margin.

Within minutes, they’re embroiled in a brutal snowball fight that only ends when Merlin surrenders to Arthur and takes a handful of snow to the face to seal Arthur’s victory.

His cheeks are flushed red from cold, and his lips wet from the snow. Arthur licks his own lips, and then watches as Merlin, still grinning brightly, lets himself fall down onto his back. Arthur wonders for just a moment what’s going on, but then Merlin’s spreading his arms and legs, and starts moving them to make a snow angel.

“You act as if you’re eight years old,” Arthur teases, smiling just as much as Merlin.

“You’re just jealous because you want to do the same but the stick up your arse won’t let you,” Merlin shoots back, and yeah, Arthur can’t let that slide.

He lies down next to Merlin and makes his own snow angel, ignoring the wet cold seeping into his trousers and jacket.

Despite being wet and starting to get cold, Merlin’s not done playing in the snow, and so Arthur ends up helping him build a snowman. Merlin even produces one of those ugly scarves his friend Will seems to favour to tie around the snowman’s neck.

“If you give it a bad haircut and a plaid shirt, the resemblance would be uncanny,” Arthur comments as he regards the snowman critically.

He startles at someone clearing their throat loudly behind him, and as he whirls around he comes face to face with Mr Knight.

“Mrs Emmerson asked me to remind Merlin that getting sick is not a pleasant way to spend his stay, and that you should come inside and get dry and warm. Both of you.”

He shoots Arthur a glance that Arthur can’t interpret. Arthur thinks it’s either polite disinterest or something that could be interpreted as “I don’t give a shit about your health but I’m paid to be nice to you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Merlin says, clapping a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Let’s go do that. Mum might make us hot chocolate if we beg right.”

The prospect of that definitely spurs Arthur on to get back inside.

Half an hour later, freshly showered, bundled up in comfortable, warm clothes, and camped out in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, he and Merlin are indulging in hot chocolate. Hunith’s in an armchair, listening to Merlin excitedly recounting of their snowball fight earlier.

If he could, Arthur would preserve this moment forever. Hunith looks happy, and carefree. Not that she looked overwhelmingly sad in the days leading up to Merlin’s appearance, but there’s a lightness to her now that wasn’t there before. He really likes seeing it.

Merlin, too, is loose-limbed and looks like playing in the snow for an hour has been the most fun he’s had in years. Knowing what Arthur now knows about how Merlin’s trapped in this inbetween world where he can’t do anything but observe life as it goes on without him, he can see why getting to play in the snow is such a big deal for him.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

“Want to go to the village with me to buy some things? I need to get mum a Christmas present, and I want to see if there are any audiobooks I might like.”

Arthur looks up from the paperwork he’s been checking over to find Merlin in the door. For the last couple of hours, Arthur has gone back to looking through Hunith’s finances to make sure his father hadn’t been conned. No matter how much he likes her, or her son, there’s no reason not to check that everything’s in order now that he’s here.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. He blinks a few times until his eyes feel less gritty, and then looks Merlin over properly. He’s already wearing a coat, boots, and a hat, ready to head outside again.

“If you can stand to wait a few minutes until I’m ready,” Arthur responds, not making any move to tidy up the desk.

Merlin shrugs. “Sure. I’ll get started on another snowman. If I finish it before you come out, you owe me a pint.”

“The snowman has to be as big as the one we already made together,” Arthur says, closing the book in front of him and starting to clear away the files he’s been looking at. Maybe it’s a scheme to distract him from discovering anything illegal, but so far everything looks to be above the boards, and if he thought there were any serious concerns, Merlin wouldn’t be able to drag him away even if he promised him a lap dance with a happy ending.

Unfortunately, Arthur’s got that image in his head now, and he quickly has to hide his face by turning away, ostensibly to reshelve the binder he’s been pouring over.

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin says. “You just make sure you actually make it outside at some point.”

When Arthur turns back around to reply, Merlin’s already gone.

Arthur sighs, and finishes tidying up Hunith’s desk. He’ll do more work tomorrow, he promises himself as he heads out of the office and back up to his room to change.

Ten minutes later, Arthur discovers that Merlin’s second snowman is only missing its head.

“You work fast,” Arthur comments, and Merlin grins back brightly.

“Dad and I used to challenge each other to who could build the most snowmen in half an hour. He always won.”

Merlin’s smile turns sad for a moment, but then he physically shakes himself out of the memory and goes back to rolling the snow into a ball big enough to form the head.

“There, all done,” he says as he settles the head on the body. “Now we can go.”

The path through the forest is covered in snow as well, but there are definitely several rows of bootprints. Arthur can’t quite make out if they’re all from the same boots, but someone has been to the Lodge and back a few times today already.

Merlin’s got their arms linked again, declaring that if he’s going to slip and fall, he’ll take Arthur with him. Arthur doubts that that’s the best strategy, but he doesn’t at all object to having Merlin so close.

“What are you looking to buy?” Arthur asks at length.

“Something for mum for Christmas. There are some shops I want to check, and people I want to say hello to.” Arthur feels Merlin shrug. “I’ll know what to get when I see it.”

Arthur wonders where exactly Merlin intends to find anything. All that Arthur’s seen so far is a bunch of shops along high street and they were all bakeries and butchers and the likes. He doubts Merlin’s going to buy his mum a cake for Christmas.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried, because after waving excitedly at every single shop owner, and saying hello to all of them personally, Merlin drags Arthur through a small side alley and onto another street. Arthur’s quite frankly surprised that the village has a second street, let alone that that one, too, holds a surprising number of shops and businesses. It’s not like Ealdor is particularly big or has a large population. There are even towns nearby that are easily two or three times as big, where Arthur could see a larger number of shops being reasonable.

It’s a weird sort of micro-economy he’s stumbled into, and not for the first time since the reveal of Merlin’s unique circumstances does Arthur wonder if he’s passed the border into some kind of fairy land.

They stop at a window with a display of finely crafted jewellery. Arthur’s not usually one for accessories but even he can see that they’re all delicate and beautiful.

“Let’s go in,” Merlin says, already pulling Arthur towards the door.

Inside he finds a few more display cases with necklaces, bracelets, earrings and all other sort of jewellery. Arthur’s so caught up in inspecting the gorgeously made silver necklace that Morgana would just love, that he doesn’t even look around to greet the shop’s clerk until he hears Merlin greet them with a cheerful “Hey, Will! What’s new?”

Arthur turns around and yes, indeed there is the infamous Will with his terrible fashion choices, looking nothing at all like the Lodge’s Mr Knight, and yet looking exactly the same. Arthur really wishes he could figure out if they’re the same person or particularly mean identical twins.

 _Fairy land_ , his brain unhelpfully provides.

He nods to Will in greeting, but turns back towards the necklace again. It’s a fine silver chain, and the pendant is made of several silver threads that are carefully woven into the shape of a dragon. In the curl of its tail sits a red gem stone streaked with white.

“How much for the necklace?” Arthur asks, turning back towards Will and Merlin. He must’ve interrupted their conversation because Merlin’s hands have stopped in the middle of a gesture. Arthur winces inwardly but decides to carry on as if nothing had happened.

“The one with the dragon and the red and white stone?” he clarifies, pointing at the glass case where the necklace sits.

Will huffs out a breath and shoots Merlin a look that clearly says “Can you believe this git?” Arthur doesn’t see Merlin’s face and therefore has no idea how Merlin responds, but he’s guessing that Merlin’s grinning or rolling his eyes – or both. Either way, Will steps around the desk and walks towards where Arthur’s standing. He takes a look at the necklace, then at Arthur, then at Merlin, and finally back at the necklace.

“A hundred,” Will says grumbling.

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Will hisses. “Why? Too much for you posh plonker?”

“Will!” Merlin snaps, already making his way over to them, presumably to get in between them should one of them decide to throw a punch.

“No,” Arthur says calmly. “Quite the opposite. I’m not an expert, but jewellery this well made from high quality material is worth at least twice that much. Why’s it so cheap?”

Merlin stops abruptly just a few steps away from them. Will looks at Arthur as if he’s grown a second head.

“Tom underprices all of his pieces,” he says slowly. “Says no one will buy it if he charges too much. He barely even covers the cost of the material sometimes.”

Will’s still frowning, clearly unsure whether to insult Arthur some more, or… whatever else he does when he isn’t glaring at outsiders.

“Is Tom around? I’d like to talk to him, if it’s possible,” Arthur says, suppressing a triumphant grin.

“He’s over at the school helping out, that’s why I’m here,” Will says. “He’ll be back later. Look, do you want the necklace or not?”

“I want it,” Arthur says, nodding. “But I’ll come and get it later, when Tom’s back. Just make sure no one else buys it in the meantime, please.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Sure, your majesty.”

Arthur does grin at him then, and claps him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

He turns back to Merlin. “Anything in here for your mum?”

Merlin’s still watching them with wide eyes, but finally shakes himself out of his stupor to reply to Arthur’s question. “Nah, don’t think so. She loves Tom’s work, but I don’t think she wants any more jewellery. She never wears anything but the necklace and ring my dad gave her anyway.”

The sad look from earlier crosses Merlin’s face again, but it disappears even faster than before.

“Let’s go and see what Nim’s got.”

And with that, he grabs Arthur by the wrist and pulls him out of the shop again.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Nim, as it turns out, is short for Nimueh, who, in turn, is a woman who looks both beautiful and intimidating. She reminds Arthur a lot of Morgause and Morgana. All three of them have that gorgeous but deadly air about them that makes Arthur keep a healthy distance between them despite him being half a head taller and at least twice as broad.

Nimueh makes and sells clothes, and Arthur has to admit that much like Tom’s jewellery, the pieces appear well made. Nimueh, at least, doesn’t seem to have any trouble pricing her work, and Arthur’s glad for it.

Not all of the clothes in her collection are things Arthur would consider practical or even beautiful, but he can appreciate that Nimueh had a vision and went with it.

His eyes do fall on a gorgeous coat though that he just has to take a closer look at. It’s made from heavy wool, in a slim cut and just long enough to reach the tops of the thighs.

“Merlin, come here,” Arthur calls, taking the coat off the mannequin.

“What?” Merlin asks, appearing from between two clothes racks.

Arthur holds out the coat. “Put this on.”

Merlin eyes him skeptically, but then shrugs and lets Arthur help him into the coat. He waits while Merlin buttons it up, and yes, it looks perfect. It’s as if Nimueh made it for Merlin specifically.

“Turn around,” Arthur instructs, and Merlin slowly turns to face Arthur.

He really does look amazing in the coat. It makes him look taller than he is, and more grownup.

“How does it feel?” Arthur asks, smiling at Merlin.

Merlin grins back. “Really good. It’s nice and warm, and heavy enough to make me feel safe, but not so heavy that it would weigh me down and make my back ache.”

He slides his hands into the pockets. “Feels like a dream to wear.”

“Good. We’re definitely buying that for you, then,” Arthur declares, nodding decisively.

“What? No!” Merlin squawks, hastily unbuttoning the coat and taking it off again. He checks the price label and visibly pales.

“Arthur, it costs more than five hundred pounds!” Merlin says aghast.

Arthur quickly takes the coat from him to make sure Merlin doesn’t drop it.

“A more than fair price for a well-made coat of fine quality. Stop gaping at me like a fish. It suits you, and you said yourself that it wears like a dream.”

Before Merlin can protest any further, Arthur carries the coat over to the desk, leaving it in Nimueh’s care. “We’re definitely taking that one, but Merlin needs to look around a bit more for his mum.”

Nimueh smirks at him, but doesn’t comment. Arthur’s not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

Merlin’s still rooted to the spot where Arthur left him, and Arthur sighs heavily.

“Come on, Merlin,” he says, heading over to him to take him by the shoulders. He shakes him softly. “It’ll be my gift to you, yes? You need a proper coat, and it really does look good on you.”

“I don’t need a coat,” Merlin says, voice just barely above a whisper. “I’m not going to feel the cold in a little over a week. It’s not like my parka isn’t keeping me perfectly warm until then.”

He hunches in on himself and tries to turn away but Arthur keeps his grip firm and doesn’t let go of Merlin. His heart breaks a little more for him every time Arthur’s reminded that Merlin’s time in this realm is limited. It makes him all the more determined to make those few days the best they can be.

“Then give it to your friend Will later, or donate it to a homeless shelter, if you must. I’d really like you to have this coat now, and for you to wear it. Just because your time here is short doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it to the fullest.”

He weighs his next words carefully, aware that they could very well have the opposite effect.

“I think that, especially because you have to cram so much living into so little time, it’s necessary to indulge yourself as much as possible. And indulge the people around you as well, especially when they’re trying to do something nice for you. It’s… well, it’s their only chance once a year, too, isn’t it?”

Arthur knows it’s low to stoop to emotional blackmail, but by the way Merlin smiles at him, Merlin knows only too well that Arthur’s trying to gently manipulate him.

In the end, Merlin sighs, nods, and accepts the coat without further complaint.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

They stop by the bookshop back on main street where Merlin gets a list of audiobooks he wants to check out, and a novel he wants to give to Will, and then they’re moving on to the museum to visit Merlin’s godfather.

Arthur tries not to laugh at the fact that a village of 246 inhabitants has a museum of its own, but it’s a hard-won battle.

Merlin’s godfather is an old man named Gaius. He’s got long white hair and a perpetually raised eyebrow, and apparently prefers to wear long robes that make Arthur think of the middle ages. Does everyone in this place have weird tastes in fashion?

He stands aside as Merlin and Gaius catch up. There’s a display detailing the history of the village, and Arthur gets sucked into that for a little while. Apparently, the existence of Ealdor dates back into the early middle ages. It was first mentioned in a text about the legendary King Arthur.

 _Guess that explains why anyone would name their child Merlin, of all things_ , Arthur muses. He had wondered about that, but had been too afraid to ask Hunith outright.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” a voice says behind him, making Arthur jump. He turns to find Gaius right behind him.

“Yes,” Arthur says, smiling politely. “Is that why tourists come here? Because of the connection to the legends?”

Gaius nods. “A lot of them, yes.”

Arthur hums. Looking at it like that, he can see why a tiny village like Ealdor would go to the trouble or founding that many businesses, and even have a museum.

“You’re Uther’s boy, aren’t you?” Gaius asks after a moment, pulling Arthur out of his thoughts yet again.

Arthur half turns to look at Gaius standing beside him. “You knew my father?”

“I did,” Gaius says slowly. “I was one of his tutors when he was a boy.”

“Really?” Arthur asks eagerly, turning all the way to face Gaius.

Gaius nods. “Right until he went to Eton. After that, I moved here. Uther visited me sometimes, or we met in Oxford when I made the trip to see my nephew.”

There’s a wistful expression on Gaius’ face, and Arthur has to swallow a few times before he’s ready to respond.

“He never talked about Ealdor, or any of the people from his past. Morgana and I tried asking, but he just wouldn’t say anything.”

Gaius sighs heavily. “It pained him too much, I believe. Losing your mother was the worst thing to ever happen to him, and he never quite recovered. But he had friends who supported him during that time, and he had you to look after, and then Morgana. His love for both of you saved him in many ways.”

Arthur nods, and takes a few measured breaths. He needs to ask Hunith how she knew his father, if she was one of the friends who was there for him after his mother died. Maybe she has pictures of them! Maybe she can to tell Arthur more about his mother.

For all that he knows how much his father had loved him, Uther never told Arthur much about his mother, and Arthur had stopped asking eventually. Arthur has seen a picture of her once, but it was just a glimpse at a framed photograph in the usually locked drawer of his father’s bedside table.

Gaius reaches up to pat Arthur’s cheek. “You’re a good boy, and I know your father loved you. It’s good you’ve come here now.”

“I think so,” Arthur agrees. He forces a smile, and then looks around the room searching for Merlin.

“He’s gone to say hello to Kilian and Gareth. My sons moved away decades ago, but they always come back around the holidays to see their old mum and dad. Mind you, every time they come back, they speak in more riddles than last time.” Gaius chuckles as if what he’s said actually made sense. Arthur figures it’s better not to ask.

“In that case,” he says instead, lowering his voice despite Merlin’s confirmed absence and preoccupation. “Do you have any idea what’s happened to Merlin? And how we can break him out of it?”

Gaius’s eyebrow seems to raise even higher, which Arthur didn’t think was possible.

“I’ve been thinking about it for years and the only explanation I can come up with is magic,” Gaius says cautiously, as if to see how Arthur will react to hearing the word “magic.”

“Anything more than that?” Arthur asks impatiently because, yes, that some form of magic is involved is rather evident.

“Unfortunately, no. But I’ll give you my notes and a few books that might be useful resources. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will see more than my old ones.”

With that, he shuffles off through a door to the side of the room. Arthur’s not sure if he should follow, but before he can make up his mind, Gaius returns with a stack of books, one of them stuffed full with additional sheets of paper and bookmarks. It’s beautifully bound in light brown leather, and has two metal clasps fastened to the front and back. He unloads the books into Arthur’s arms, the brown on top of the bunch.

“My grimoire,” Gaius says, grinning brightly as he taps the book’s cover. “It contains all my notes on Merlin’s case, and anything else unusual that’s ever happened around here.”

He pats Arthur’s arm. “I’ll get you a bag. And some tea. Come, come.”

Gaius waves Arthur through another door into the back of the building, and then Arthur finds himself in a small sitting room where Merlin’s in a chair, and identical twins sit on a couch. Arthur deposits the books carefully on a nearby chair, and then moves closer.

“I’m Arthur,” he says, offering a hand to one of the twins. They’re both skinny, and have dark brown hair. They can’t be much older than maybe forty, but their faces already look wrinkled, and their skin tan and rough, as if they spend a lot of time outdoors. Their identical, mischievous grins do nothing to put Arthur at ease. Nor does the fact that neither has taken Arthur’s hand.

Arthur pulls his hand back.

“What’s with the books?” Merlin asks into the uncomfortable quiet, and Arthur’s grateful for the distraction.

“Uh, Gaius is giving me some things to read about local history. He said I might find it enlightening.”

Merlin snorts. “I bet he did.”

One of the twins’ grin turns sharklike.

“You’ll find the answer you seek,” he says, and then the other one nods solemnly before adding: “But the price might be too high to pay.”

Arthur just blinks at them in confusion.

“Right,” he says slowly, turning back to Merlin. “Are we done here or do you want to stay longer?”

“I’m good,” Merlin says, getting up. “Killy, Gar, it’s been great to see you.”

“You call, we answer,” the twins say in perfect, creepy unison.

Merlin just laughs, and waves at them as he heads back towards the museum. Arthur picks up the books from the chair – now neatly placed in a cotton bag – and follows.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

“I think it’s late enough to catch Tom at the shop, if you still want to go back,” Merlin offers as they step back out of the museum. Meeting Kilian and Gareth is always fun, even though they get weirder every year. Before Arthur showed up, they’d told him that his time was near to truly unite with the other half of his coin. Whatever _that_ meant.

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, and leads the way back down the street towards Tom’s little shop. Merlin always likes looking at the things Tom makes. For being such a big man, he sure has a delicate touch, and all the things he makes are beautiful and look incredibly fragile.

That’s half the reason that Merlin’s never bought anything from him. He’d probably break it within seconds, and while he wouldn’t be angry about the money he’d lost, he’d be upset to have broken something so pretty.

The other part is that, well, his mum never wears anything new ever since dad died, and Merlin doesn’t need anything. Necklaces aren’t really his thing, and he’s perfectly happy with his leather bracelet.

Still, he does like looking at everything.

“You’re not going to be mean, are you?” Merlin asks hesitantly as they near the shop.

“Of course not,” Arthur says, and even though he sounds like he’s ready for a fight, Merlin trusts him to make it a fair one.

Tom’s behind the counter, just as expected, and Merlin watches as the man’s eyes go wide and his expression becomes instantly guarded and careful. Merlin cringes inwardly. Tom is a gentle soul, and Arthur does cut an intimidating figure.

“Are you Tom? The one who makes the jewellery?” Arthur asks. Merlin waves sheepishly at Tom from behind Arthur’s back, and then stands to the side – close enough to interfere if necessary, but far enough away to stay well out of whatever Arthur’s going to do.

“I am,” Tom says, jutting his chin out. “Are you the one who reserved the dragon necklace?”

“Yes,” Arthur confirms. “And the price you’re charging for it is absolutely ridiculous.”

“That’s what the material’s worth!” Tom argues. “If I sold it for anything less, I’d lose money!”

“Exactly!” Arthur says, much louder than before. “You should be charging at least twice as much.”

That shuts Tom up. It’s the same thing Arthur had said to Will earlier, and Merlin had seen that it had impressed Will the tiniest bit.

“I can’t charge that much,” Tom argues eventually. “No one would buy it.”

“Is that really what you think?” Arthur challenges him. “How many tourists buy your jewellery on average?”

“Er, a lot of them? During the summer when the village has a steady stream of visitors, I make a sale at least once a day, usually more,” Tom says, still frowning at Arthur.

“And do they ever complain to you that your jewellery is too expensive?” Arthur continues to ask.

“No,” Tom says slowly.

“No,” Arthur confirms. “I bet they get really excited when they see precious pieces like that necklace sold way under worth. You need to charge more. It’s not just the material costs you need to get back, it’s also your time and your creativity. You designed all the pieces yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Tom replies, now looking unsure. “My son helps sometimes.”

“Your own labour has worth, your ideas have value. If you sell jewellery at the mere cost of the material, you’re telling every buyer that you don’t consider what you make important or special.”

That gets a proper reaction out of Tom. He physically flinches, and then looks to Merlin as if he needs confirmation from someone else.

Merlin, who’s heard Will say similar things often enough, nods. “He’s right, Tom.”

“But then the villagers can’t afford my work anymore,” Tom says feebly.

Arthur rolls his eyes – Merlin can see it even from where he’s standing.

“So give them all a discount. You probably know every single person that lives here. If they come in to buy anything, you give them a discount, but any tourist that shows up pays the proper price. If they grumble about it, tell them that your pieces are unique and their friends and family back home will be jealous that they’ve got something no one else in the world can have.”

Tom opens and closes his mouth, then looks down at the dragon necklace Arthur picked out.

“How much for the necklace?” Arthur asks after several long seconds have ticked by.

Again, Tom opens his mouth, closes it, then frowns harder at the counter.

Slowly, he raises his head and looks directly at Arthur.

“Two hundred and thirty-five pounds. I’ll give it to you for two hundred though, as a thank you for some much-needed business advice.”

Arthur grins and holds out his hand. “Deal.”

Merlin’s sure he’s not imagining the proud look on Arthur’s face when he hands over the money to Tom.

He’s also not imagining the light flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

❅❄❅❄❅  
23rd December  
❅❄❅❄❅

On his way down to breakfast the next morning, Arthur stops by Merlin’s room, which is just down the hall from Arthur’s, as it turns out, with a lovely view of the forest behind the hotel.

Arthur knocks once, and wisely waits until he hears Merlin call “yes” before he enters.

He’d expected to find Merlin still mostly asleep in bed, or otherwise more or less awake and getting ready for breakfast himself, given how muffled his call had sounded.

What he definitely had not expected to see was Merlin, definitely awake but still in bed, the duvet pushed down to his knees along with his pyjama bottoms. Apparently Merlin doesn’t wear a shirt to bed, or maybe he took it off earlier. Either way, Arthur can clearly see his pale chest and stomach with a fine dusting of dark hair between his pecs, and trailing down his stomach.

Which leads—

Arthur swallows thickly.

Merlin’s got a hand wrapped around his erection, stroking it hard and fast, and Arthur realises much too late that the “Yes” he heard was muffled because Merlin’s head is turned into his pillow, his eyes screwed shut as he jerks himself fast and hard.

Fucking hell.

Arthur stands there, rooted to the spot, unable to look anywhere but Merlin’s hand on his prick, or Merlin’s face, mouth slack and cheeks beautifully flushed.

It’s a miracle Arthur hasn’t been discovered yet – especially given that Merlin would be looking directly at him if his eyes were open – but with every second that passes, Arthur feels worse for watching Merlin without permission.

Even though it’s going to be bloody awkward later, Arthur would feel worse for having surprised Merlin and not tell him, so he clears his throat to alert Merlin to his presence.

Right on cue, Merlin’s eyes fly open and fix on Arthur. A couple of seconds tick by, each one feeling longer than the last, and then Merlin lets out a squeak, and promptly turns away from Arthur to hide himself.

Unfortunately, now Arthur’s got a spectacular view of Merlin’s naked arse.

“Fuck,” Arthur groans. At the very least, it spurs him into action, and he finally turns away and flees the room, letting the door fall shut behind him with a loud bang.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Half an hour later, they’re each concentrating hard on their breakfast. Sitting at separate tables, Arthur’s hiding behind the newspaper, and Merlin’s steadfastly avoiding looking in Arthur’s direction by staring out the window.

Merlin gets up first and barely takes enough time to gather his dishes before leaving the dining room at a quick pace.

Arthur’s shoulders slump and he lets the newspaper sink.

It’s not as if he hadn’t thought about Merlin like that since he met him, but…

Well. Arthur supposes it stands to reason that Merlin would use the time he has. If he hasn’t been able to feel even his own touch in almost a year, it’s not surprising that he’s indulging now.

Arthur’s cheeks heat. This is really not something he should be thinking about. What Merlin does or doesn’t do in the privacy of his room isn’t Arthur’s concern, and now that he’s interrupted him, he doubts he’ll get the chance to make it his problem any time soon.

And yet… Arthur can’t stop thinking about how responsive Merlin must be after such a long time without another person’s touch.

He’s about to discreetly edge his way out of the room and take care of his own needs when Hunith enters the room and makes a beeline for his table. Arthur scoots a little closer to the table and puts on a polite smile, hoping to disguise what he’s just had on his mind.

“Arthur,” Hunith says warmly. “It’s been a few days, and I still owe you an explanation.”

She pushes all the dishes to one side of the table and sweeps a few stray crumbs to the floor. Then she picks up a heavy, leather-bound book from her lap and places it on the table.

“I’m sure you’ll find this interesting.”

Hunith opens the book and Arthur can immediately see what she meant.

On the first page is a picture of six people in front of one of the buildings of the University of Oxford. He recognises Hunith right away of course, and his father on her right side, a full head of dark hair that Arthur has to smile at, and to _his_ right—

Arthur inhales sharply.

It’s his mother.

He reaches out to touch the picture, lightly stroking a finger over her face.

She’s laughing at something, leaning into Uther’s side, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Uther’s got an arm around her waist, the other around Hunith. He, too, is smiling brightly, looking happier than Arthur has ever seen him.

He forces himself to look at the other people in the picture. On Hunith’s other side stands a tall man with long, dark hair and a dark beard. He’s not laughing, but Arthur can tell there’s a smile hidden under that beard. Next to him is another couple: A broad man and a big woman that Arthur recognises as Vivienne and Gorlois LeFay – Morgana’s parents.

“You all knew each other,” Arthur says after long minutes. His eyes keep trailing back to his mother’s face. Everyone says he looks so much like her, and Arthur can see his eyes and his hair on her, but her face possesses a softness that Arthur’s has lost years ago.

It’s another reminder of how young she died.

“We did,” Hunith says softly, cupping Arthur’s hand with hers. “Uther, Ygraine, Gorlois and I all grew up together. Balinor and Vivienne we met at uni.” There’s the slightest tremor in her voice as she speaks, and then Arthur notices that she’s gripping his hand more tightly than is necessary.

He looks at the picture again, and suddenly he realises: she’s the only one still alive. Everyone in the picture except her has died, all before their time.

Arthur swallows down the lump in his throat, and turns the page.

“Your father and my husband weren’t the best of friends when they met, or even later. After Balinor was gone, and Merlin was gone, and I was—“ She takes a fortifying breath. “I was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, your father has been wonderful. You probably didn’t realise, but he spent some time here after the accident. He helped me a lot through the first couple of months, and he was the one who insisted that I let him help me out with the hotel.”

Hunith’s twisting the skirt she’s wearing in her free hand, and the other one’s still holding on to Arthur tightly. They’re the only outward signs that it’s difficult for her to talk about this. Even her voice is growing steadier with every word.

“He kept visiting as much as he could. The last time I saw him was three months ago for Merlin’s twenty-eighth birthday.”

She looks up from the photo album at Arthur.

“I know you have good reason to be suspicious of me. I don’t know why your father never talked about me and my family. But I swear, Arthur, your father and I have been friends since we were children, and the only reason I agreed to let him pay for the renovations and remodelling is because he accepted a silent partnership in the hotel. I was paying him back bit by bit with what I could spare from the hotel’s profit.”

Arthur reaches out to clasp her hand in both of his, and squeezes it. “I know,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. “I’ve already looked at the books and the paperwork, remember? I could see that you’ve done things properly. I’ll finish checking them, not because I think you’re lying or have made mistakes, but because I want to see if there’s anything else we can do to improve the hotel’s profit margin.”

The corners of Hunith’s mouth turn up. “You’re so much like your father in that way,” she says, and Arthur smiles back gratefully.

“He was a good man. I’m glad I take after him.”

Hunith shakes her head at that, though. “You do remind me of him a lot, but you’re so much more like your mother, Arthur. Ygraine was— she was full of life, always. She never worried about what people might think of her, she did what she believed to be right, and everyone else be damned. I see a lot of that in you, and I know your father did, too. He often told me that he’s so glad you take after her more than him.”

Arthur’s clutching at Hunith’s hand as if it’s a lifeline. He’s not the type of person to start crying in public – or ever – but he thinks that if he could trust anyone with his tears, it would be Hunith.

After a couple deep breaths, Arthur believes himself ready to speak.

“Thank you, Hunith. That— It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

She offers him another smile that Arthur can’t help but describe as motherly, full of warmth and affection as it is.

“You’re welcome, Arthur dear. Now,” she adds, reaching for the album again and turning another page. “Let’s look at some more pictures. Fewer of your father, but a lot of Merlin. He was the cutest baby, you know?”

She winks at him, and Arthur can’t help the laugh that escapes him. He doubts Merlin will be too thrilled with his mum for showing Arthur his baby pictures, but Arthur can definitely use the distraction just about now.

It’s over an hour later when they reach the end of the album with pictures taken only days before the accident. Balinor’s hair’s still as long and his beard just as thick as it had been in that first photograph, but there are streaks of gray visible now. Hunith in the picture is covering her mouth while she laughs, and Merlin is, well, for one thing, Merlin looks pretty much exactly as he does now, right down to the unfortunate bowl cut.

“How old is he in that picture?” Arthur asks, lips quirked in a fond smile.

“Twenty-three,” Hunith says. “I can’t believe it’s already been five years since the accident.”

Arthur frowns. “He hasn’t changed at all, has he? He looks exactly the same, except maybe a better haircut and different clothes.”

“Freya made him go to Sefa’s salon for a haircut last year,” Hunith explains. She looks down at the picture as well. “But you’re right, he hasn’t changed. I don’t think he even realises that he isn’t changing or aging. In fact—” she breaks off, looking pensive.

Arthur waits for her to continue but eventually has to prompt her to go on.

“It’s just that changes to his body don’t even really last. The haircut was no problem, but one year, he cut his hands badly just hours before he was due to leave. He had to go to the hospital to get stitches. When he came back the following December, they weren’t there anymore, nor was there any sign of him ever getting cut.”

Arthur swallows. That’s— Merlin will never change. He’ll always stay the same, or at least as close as.

“Have you tried telling him?” Arthur asks after several long moments.

“Yes,” Hunith says. “But any time I bring up his situation, he evades me or quite literally runs off to where I can’t follow.”

Arthur scowls. “That’s no way to treat your mother.”

Silently he wonders if that’s what would happen if he tried bringing it up – except he has no problem running after Merlin.

He closes the album and gives it back to Hunith.

“Thank you for showing me this. I might like to have another look at it some time, but right now there’s something else I need to take care of.”

For a moment, he hesitates, but then he leans over and kisses Hunith’s forehead.

In return, she cups his cheek and smiles at him. “You’re a good boy, Arthur. I’m glad I finally got to meet you.”

“Me too,” Arthur says, and he means it.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

This morning had been more than embarrassing. Merlin can admit that it can’t have been all that pleasant for Arthur either, but Merlin’s definitely the one who’s been humiliated more by what happened.

The worst part is that he’d been fantasising about Arthur. You’d think that seeing the object of your desire standing in the doorway would be a great turn on, but real life isn’t a porn clip.

Merlin’s cheeks still burn from the awkwardness of the entire situation, including the tension during breakfast. If he can avoid Arthur for the day, they can probably go back to normal and act as if nothing had happened by tomorrow.

That means that Merlin’s either going to spend the day in his room, or sneak out to the village in a little bit. As soon as he can be sure that Arthur’s stuck in his mum’s office for the day, Merlin’s going to get the hell out of the hotel and maybe visit Percy at the shop.

Resolved to wait for an hour or two, Merlin settles in to read for a bit while he can still hold a book and turn the pages by himself. Audiobooks are fine and all, but he much prefers reading at his own pace, and feel the book in his hands.

He’s made it halfway through the novel he picked up at the bookshop yesterday when there’s a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he calls. He expects his mum, or maybe Will, but of course it’s Arthur.

Merlin groans inwardly. Has Arthur come to talk about what happened? Oh God, he hopes not. It was bad enough the first time, no need to go through it _again_. Unless… What if Arthur would like to participate this time?

He can feel his ears grow warm, and he knows he must be blushing.

“What can I do for you?” Merlin asks, and fuck, it sounds way too suggestive, even to his own ears.

Arthur, whether he picked up on the possible double-meaning or not, crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares at Merlin.

“Why do you run away from your mother when she tries to talk to you about your curse?”

Merlin blinks at Arthur in confusion.

“What?”

“Your mum told me that whenever she tries talking to you about the curse you’re under, you literally run away and go somewhere where she can’t follow you. That’s horrendous behaviour for anyone, Merlin, but especially for _you_ , her _son_. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Merlin opens his mouth, closes it, frowns at Arthur, and finally opts to set the book aside and stand up.

“When did this come up? And why?” he asks instead of answering Arthur’s question. Truth is that when he has done it, he’s always felt absolutely terrible for it even before he’d taken more than three steps. But he cannot talk about what’s going on with his mum. It would upset her, which then would upset Merlin, and it would ruin the time they have together worse than if he runs away and makes her angry for a couple of hours.

“Just now,” Arthur snaps. “I asked her if she ever tried explaining to you that you’re not aging, and she said that any time she tries to bring up anything about your situation, you take off and hide somewhere. It seems to me that not only are you not aging physically, but also mentally. Except most first graders act less childish than you, _Mer_ lin.”

Arthur has uncrossed his arms and has put his hands on his hips while he talked. It’s an impressive stance. Merlin wonders if he could see through Arthur’s shirt if he were backlit.

 _Probably_ , his mind supplies, and then adds: _You’re being yelled at. Stop fantasising._

“Hold on,” Merlin says, raising a hand to stop Arthur from saying anything else. “You and mum were talking about me?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, Merlin. We talked about you, I just said so. Do you even realise that you still look like the gangly twenty-three year old from five years ago? I know some people are cursed with looking too young for most of their lives, but even you should’ve filled out a little more by now. At the very least there should be more lines in your face.”

With a few steps, Arthur has crowded into Merlin’s personal space. He’s squinting at Merlin’s face as if to check for wrinkles.

Merlin takes a deliberate step back, and then another few to walk around Arthur so he can reach the door without any human obstacles in the way. Fleeing is a tried and tested strategy to escape unwanted conversations.

Unfortunately, Arthur seems to realise that too because he follows Merlin and takes him by the arm to stop him from running.

“You need to face the facts, Merlin. You’re not aging, or at least not at the same rate as normal humans do. My guess is that the only time you’re moving forward in your development is during those days you spend here in this world, but even then it’s not quite the same as it’s for regular humans.”

His grip on Merlin’s arm tightens and his voice drops lower, becomes more urgent. “Think, Merlin. That’s just a little over two months that you’ve aged since you were twenty-three. Do you really want to spend the rest of eternity trapped in whatever otherworld you go to when you disappear? You’ll watch every single person you love die, and then what? What if everyone who knows your secret is gone? Do you trust that the next generation will be okay with weird Merlin popping in every year for less than two weeks? Will they be fine with you haunting this hotel? What about the generation after that, or the one after that?”

Arthur pins Merlin with a hard look. “And when they tear down this building one day? Will you disappear completely or will you have to sit around in nothingness for the rest of your existence, always waiting for those precious few days that you get to live life like a normal human being? What if you never die? What if you _can’t_ die, seeing how you also magically heal between visits?”

Finally, Arthur falls silent, and Merlin’s heart is beating much too fast. It’s not like he’s never thought about it before. After all, with nothing else to do but watch and think, it’s kind of inevitable that these thoughts creep in.

And the truth is, Merlin is scared that any of that might happen. He’ll watch his mum die, and Will, and, well, he’ll probably not actually be there when any of his friends go because he can’t bloody leave the damn hotel most of the time. He can only wait for someone to share the news when Merlin’s hanging about by accident. He might not even get to say goodbye to his mum when she dies one day.

He swallows thickly and then wrenches away from Arthur.

“I know,” he says, voice too hoarse. “Do you really think I don’t know any of that? But what am I supposed to do, hm? I don’t even know why I’m like this.”

Arthur’s expression softens and he deliberately relaxes his posture.

“Then we’ll start by finding out. Your godfather gave me a lot of books on supernatural phenomena and all of his theories for what could’ve happened to you. We can do research and find out what happened to you. And when we know, we can make a plan for how to reverse it without killing you.”

He sounds so sincere and determined, Merlin can’t help but laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

Arthur shrugs. “My father taught me to do everything in my power to solve a problem.”

Merlin licks his lips, then nods slowly. “Alright,” he says finally. “Let’s solve it.”

❅❄❅❄❅  
24th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

With Merlin finally ready to face reality and do something about it, he and Arthur have settled down to do research. Merlin’s room both is big and private enough for them to work in peace without getting into Hunith’s or Mr Knight’s way.

They spent most of the previous afternoon sorting through Gaius’ notes and books, deciding which lines of inquiry they want to pursue and which appear too far-fetched.

By the time they said goodnight yesterday, they’d had a decent game plan for where to start the next day.

They work for most of the morning, but they’re interrupted shortly before noon by Hunith who summons them to lunch.

Afterwards, they get roped into helping with moving the furniture to create a large enough space in the dining room to allow for dancing. Apparently there’s going to be a big Christmas Eve party at the hotel.

“Oh,” Merlin says, looking sheepish. “I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and just gets on with moving tables and chairs to the side.

The rest of the afternoon is lost while they help Hunith prepare everything for the party. The hotel had already been decked out in holiday decorations, but Arthur ends up fixing dozens of strings of fairy lights to every available surface anyway.

Merlin’s busy shovelling snow, and Mr Knight’s setting tables and preparing the bar. Arthur wonders if the whole village is coming, and how 250 people are going to fit into the small hotel.

There’s just enough time for all of them to freshen up and change clothes before the first guests arrive. Arthur realises that he didn’t bring anything to wear for a dinner party, but it’s too late to buy anything now.

Arthur’s still in his underwear when there’s a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“It’s Will, you big plonker,” comes the reply from the other side of the door.

Arthur frowns, but throws on a dressing gown and goes to open the door anyway.

Outside stands Will, except he’s dressed like Mr Knight. The only thing that truly gives it away is the challenging look on his face.

“Are you going to let me in, or what?” Will huffs, and Arthur’s too stunned to do anything but step aside.

“So it really was you every time,” Arthur says finally after closing the door. “I thought maybe identical twins.”

Will smirks. “Yeah, was pretty funny yanking your chain like that. No better than you deserve, mind. Maybe next time you won’t look down on someone for how they look.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Your fashion sense is atrocious, and you know it. Well, except when you’re in the role of the respectable ‘Mr Knight’. Is that actually your last name or is that wishful thinking?”

“Fuck off,” Will grumps.

“Gladly, except that _you’re_ in _my_ room. Was there anything you wanted specifically?”

“Oh, right.” Will holds out a garment bag that Arthur hadn’t even noticed.

“Nimueh’s asked me to give you this. She figured you might not have anything to wear for tonight, or if you did, it wouldn’t be nearly as good as what she’s got on offer, so...”

Will’s still holding the bag and Arthur doesn’t move.

“What?” Arthur asks at last.

“Take the damn clothes, Pendragon.” Will says, shaking the bag.

Arthur finally steps forward and takes it. He hangs it up on the wardrobe and opens it. Inside is a powder blue suit with matching shirt and tie. Slowly, he drags his fingertips over the fabric – it feels amazing.

“Thank you,” Arthur says quietly. He takes the suit out, then discards his robe, and puts on the shirt.

“Oi,” Will protests behind him. “Didn’t need the show.”

Arthur snorts. “I’m hardly naked. You’re the one who insists on hanging about.”

“Nope,” Will says, his voice moving towards the door. “I’m off now.”

“I’ll see you downstairs,” Arthur says as he puts on the trousers. “Thank you for delivering this.”

“No problem. And—”

When Will doesn’t continue, Arthur turns around. Will’s by the door, handle in hand.

“Yes?” Arthur asks, eyebrow raised.

“Thanks for talking to Tom. I’ve been trying to convince him to raise the prices for years, but he wouldn’t listen. I guess he needed to hear it from a posh git like you.”

The words could’ve been offensive if Will’s face didn’t speak volumes about how much he really does appreciate Arthur’s interference.

“No problem,” Arthur says. “It wouldn’t have been right to cheat him out of his money like that.”

Will nods, whether in agreement or just to signal that he understands, Arthur doesn’t know. He opens the door, finally and Arthur’s about to turn around when Will speaks again: “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“If you hurt Merlin in any way, no one will ever find your body.”

Arthur’s sure that the stern look on Will’s face is supposed to be intimidating, and that’s why he tries not to laugh. They just declared some kind of truce between them; Arthur’s not going to destroy all that again just because Will looks hilarious when he’s trying to project menace.

“Of course,” Arthur says eventually, nodding seriously at Will.

Will, apparently, is satisfied with that, and finally leaves Arthur to get dressed in peace.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

When Arthur comes downstairs, there’s already a crowd. He recognises some of the men from when they delivered the Christmas tree. The one with the long hair is Gwaine, and the hunk next to him his husband Percy. Arthur spots Lancelot as well, and a few faces from people who own businesses in the village.

After lurking in the doorway for at least two minutes, he finally steps into the sitting room and heads straight over to Gwaine and Percy to say hello.

“Ah, the handsome stranger returneth,” Gwaine greets him. Before Arthur could even think to protest, he’s being pulled into a hug.

“Gwaine,” Percy says longsufferingly. “We talked about this. How’s Emery going to learn to respect other people’s personal space when you don’t even ask Arthur if he wants a hug?”

Gwaine rolls his eyes. “Emery’s fine. Our kid got your brains and my looks. Perfect combination.”

Percy chuckles, but doesn’t disagree. “Now it’s our kid,” he says in a stage-whisper directed at Arthur. “But whenever there’s a problem, Gwaine denies any and all relation. Never mind that he was the one carrying the brat for nine months.”

“Nine months and ten days!” Gwaine interrupts. “Couldn’t even do me the courtesy of being on time.”

“Are they bickering about how Gwaine had to suffer through ten additional days of pregnancy again?” asks a voice to Arthur’s side. He turns his head to find Lance standing next to him.

Arthur nods. “Looks like it. But, er, Gwaine carried the babby?”

Lance gives him a challenging look. “Gwaine’s trans. He had Emery before he transitioned.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, nodding along.

“Oh?” Lance asks, eyebrows raised. “Nothing else you want to say?”

Arthur frowns. “Not really? Gwaine being trans makes much more sense than what I thought at first. Not that magical babies would be much of a surprise in a village where one of the inhabitants is invisible some odd three hundred and fifty days a year, but I’m actually a little relieved that there’s a logical explanation for this.”

Lance expressions smooths back into a smile, and Arthur can’t help but feel like he just passed some sort of test.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “They often bicker about this?”

Lance nods sagely. “Basically any time anyone mentions Emery. Could be worse though,” he says, face pensive.

“How so?” Arthur asks, doing Lance the favour of playing along.

“They could be bickering about Gwaine’s sister,” Lance says quietly. “I think everyone in the village knows that argument by heart at this point.”

Arthur grimaces. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come up, then.”

Lance smiles at him. “Want a drink? I’m headed over to the bar, might as well take you.”

“Yes, please,” Arthur says enthusiastically, and follows Lancelot over into the dining room.

Apparently Elyan’s on bar duty, and he readily hands Arthur a drink in a copper mug.

“It’s a Moscow Mule,” Elyan says, as if that explained everything.

“What’s in it?” Arthur asks, sniffing the drink cautiously.

“Lime, ginger beer, and vodka, for the most part.” Elyan winks. “Definitely drink that slowly if you haven’t eaten yet.”

Elyan watches him expectantly as Arthur takes a small sip. He has to admit that he likes the taste of it, and so raises the mug in a toast to Elyan, but doesn’t drink more just yet.

Lance, the traitor, gets handed a pint of lager.

“You could’ve told me he does beer,” Arthur grumbles.

“Elyan loves mixing drinks and he so rarely gets to do it,” Lance says, clinking his glass against Arthur’s mug before taking a sip.

“So he doesn’t do this professionally?” Arthur has to ask. The way Elyan wields the bottles and shaker, Arthur would’ve thought he’d have to have a job in a bar somewhere.

“Oh, no,” Lance says. “Elyan’s a preschool teacher, and I teach primary school.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “I guess that explains why he doesn’t get to mix drinks all that often. It’s frowned upon to serve preschoolers alcohol.”

Lance laughs. “Exactly. He travelled a lot when he was younger, and I think he earned money tending bar during those years. He’s amazing with kids, though. I’m glad he came back and decided to teach.”

Arthur turns to watch Elyan as he mixes drink after drink. He gets interrupted by Freya, who slips behind the bar and must be going up on her toes to press a kiss to Elyan’s cheek.

“They’ve been together almost ever since Elyan got back from his last trip,” Lance says, fondness evident in his voice. “Their oldest is starting school next year. Can’t wait to have her in my class.” Lance grins. “She and my youngest are thick as thieves. They’re cousins, of course, which probably only makes it worse. It’s going to be an adventure teaching them, but I’m really looking forward to it.”

For the next hour, Lance guides Arthur around the room, introduces and re-introduces people, talks about who’s with whom and how many children they have and how old they are. Arthur tries to keep track, but the names and faces all blur together pretty soon, his memory not helped by the drink he’s sipping. Unfortunately, even drinking it slowly isn’t doing much about the impact it has on him, given that he hasn’t eaten anything yet tonight.

“How about I take over for a bit,” comes Merlin’s voice from behind Arthur. When Arthur turns, he finds Merlin in front of him, wearing dark grey trousers and a white shirt with a waistcoat that matches the trousers. The shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, exposing Merlin’s forearms, and the top two buttons at his collar are undone.

Arthur licks his lips, and quickly takes another sip of his drink.

“Sure, he’s all yours,” Lance says. He claps Arthur on the shoulder and then heads off… somewhere, maybe to find Gwen or his kids – Arthur doesn’t really care, he’s too busy staring at Merlin.

“You look nice,” Arthur eventually manages to say, and immediately wants to slap a hand against his forehead. It’s like he’s forgotten everything about how to be charming and eloquent.

“Thanks, you too. I see Nimueh made a special delivery for you too.” Merlin slowly drags his gaze up and down Arthur’s body.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Will dropped it off for me.” Arthur fights the urge to fidget with the mug in his hands.

“That was uncharacteristically nice of him.”

Arthur nods along, eyes still fixed on Merlin’s exposed neck. He’s wondering if Merlin wore a jacket and tie earlier, or if he’s started out the evening looking like that.

“Yes,” Arthur replies distractedly. “He apparently wanted to talk to me about what I said to Tom the other day, that’s why he offered.”

“I see,” Merlin says. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“No, but I need to. This drink is hitting me much harder than I think it should,” Arthur says, frowning down at the mug that’s almost empty.

“Then let’s find you some food. Hopefully there’s still something left. These people are like starved hyenas whenever my mum cooks for them.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s arm and tugs him over to the buffet where, wonder over wonder, some food’s still left.

Arthur makes sure to pile a bit of everything onto his plate, and then he and Merlin find a place to sit so Arthur can eat in peace.

It’s strange how no one comes to bother him the entire time. Most of the people here are friends with Merlin and have been waiting a year to talk to him – at least that’s what Hunith had said to him that afternoon while she and Arthur were folding napkins.

For a few moments, Arthur worries that it’s his presence that's keeping them away. They might not want to speak to Merlin where Arthur can hear. He looks around the room, trying to see if anyone’s watching them, looking for signs that someone’s attempting to get Merlin’s attention, or waiting for Merlin or Arthur to move away so they can take Arthur’s spot.

A hand lands on Arthur’s arm, and he looks down at it, then lets his eyes wander from the long, slim fingers up a pale forearm to a white shirt, and finally up at Merlin’s face.

“Finish your food,” Merlin says quietly with a soft smile. “Or I might decide that you’re taking too long and it eat myself.”

To make his point, he reaches over and steals a carrot from Arthur’s plate.

“Maybe you’d put on some weight and stopped being such a skinny brat,” Arthur responds, unable to do anything but smile fondly at Merlin as he says it.

Merlin shrugs. “I’ve got a fast metabolism, what can I say?”

“How about, ‘Sorry for stealing your food, Arthur. I’ll do anything you want to make up for it’?”

Arthur wonders if he’s imagining the way Merlin’s pupils widen at that, but he does know that he’s feeling his cheeks grow warm with a faint blush. Given their… encounter yesterday, this suggestion came across much more sexually charged than intended.

To hide his face, Arthur quickly turns his gaze back on his plate and continues eating. Merlin, luckily, doesn’t say anything else, but neither does he remove his hand from where it’s resting on Arthur’s arm.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Four hours and another two more strong drinks later, Arthur’s just about ready for bed. The tension between him and Merlin never dissipated after Arthur finished his food, but his suspicion that his presence was keeping people away had been correct, because the moment he got up to take care of the empty plate, someone else slipped into his seat and stopped Merlin from following Arthur.

Arthur, in turn, ended up helping Hunith clear away the rest of the food, promising her that he didn’t mind missing the party for a bit. He even admitted to her that it was a little overwhelming to be in such a big crowd of people where everyone knew everyone while he knew almost no one.

Hunith patted him on the hip, and let him dry the dishes.

Now, a little after midnight, all the guests with children have already left, and Arthur feels safe to disappear up to his room as well. He tried finding Merlin to say goodnight, but after dinner, Arthur never found him again, and even now in the thinned out crowd, there’s no sign of him.

Arthur’s disappointed, but he really does need to sleep soon, so he heads back to his room where he makes sure to hydrate properly, and take off the expensive clothes he’s been allowed to borrow – not that he’s going to give them back, he has every intention of buying them – before flopping face down into bed.

The image of Merlin’s exposed neck and lovely forearms drifts back into his mind just as he’s about to fall asleep.

He wakes up on Christmas Day with an erection, and vivid memories of a dream in which he stripped Merlin of that delectable outfit he wore the night before, before tasting every centimetre of his body.

It takes him only half a dozen strokes until he’s coming all over his hand, biting his lip to keep from moaning Merlin’s name.

❅❄❅❄❅  
25th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

Christmas morning is always special. It’s not just that it’s Christmas, or that there are presents. Most of Merlin’s favourite memories are from Christmas mornings. They’d get up and get dressed to play in the snow before exchanging presents, even as Merlin got older, and then mum would make hot chocolate with breakfast and they’d all change back into their pyjamas and get comfortable in front of the fire in the sitting room to exchange gifts.

The year his father died, and the first year Merlin reappeared for the holidays had been difficult, that’s true, but ever since then, he and his mum – and Will – have done all they could to return the magic to their Christmases. It has been working… for the most part.

There’s no more playing in the snow (Will hates the cold, Hunith can’t join as much as she used to, and it’s just not as much fun all by himself), but there’s still pyjamas and hot chocolate in front of the fireplace. And gifts, of course.

This year, they even have Arthur.

Arthur. God.

Seeing him in that suit last night was… An Experience – capital letters very much needed.

If Merlin had more time, he would’ve happily abandoned his friends and dragged Arthur upstairs instead.

In the end, he didn’t even notice when Arthur had gone to bed, he’d been so preoccupied with catching up with Sophia and Edwin. (Apparently, they have two cats now, and their oldest, Aulfric, has started learning the piano.)

Merlin had considered going to Arthur’s room, but he figured that if Arthur had wanted to say goodnight, or invite Merlin up to his room, he would’ve done it. He doesn’t strike Merlin as the type of person who doesn’t go after what he wants.

He is glad though that he told Arthur about their Christmas morning ritual while they were preparing for the party yesterday, because when Arthur comes downstairs, his hair’s damp and just curling a little bit at the neck, and he’s wearing a soft looking shirt and pyjama bottoms under a dark red velvet robe. It’s unfair that he almost looks better like that than in the tailored suit last night.

“Morning,” Merlin says, offering a smile.

“Good morning,” Arthur replies, smiling in return.

“You disappeared,” Merlin blurts. “Last night, I mean. You were suddenly gone, didn’t even say goodnight.”

Arthur makes himself comfortable on the floor in front of the fireplace, opposite Merlin.

“I had enough to drink and I was tired,” is all he says. “I didn’t see you anywhere. Didn’t think you’d expect me to say goodnight.”

Merlin frowns at that. Did Arthur really think Merlin wouldn’t care?

“Next time, come and find me,” he says slowly.

The look that Arthur gives him in return is calculating at first, as if he's trying to gauge what exactly Merlin’s trying to say. In the end, he nods, and says: “I will. Next time.”

Merlin’s not sure what would’ve happened next if Will hadn’t come in with a tray of hot cocoa. Merlin and Arthur had been staring at each other, and Merlin could’ve sworn that Arthur had looked at his mouth. He’d definitely licked his own lips, which drew Merlin’s gaze.

As it is, the Christmas morning proceeds much as it’s supposed to. Merlin receives a bunch of audiobooks and movies from both Hunith and Will, while he gives Will a set of nice dress shirts that Will wants but would never buy for himself. Merlin’s had enough opportunities to watch Will look longingly at Nimueh’s online shop to know what he had to do.

He gifts his mum with an appointment for him and her with Gilli to take some pictures. Ever since dad died, there haven’t been any new pictures of both Merlin and Hunith together. Any time Merlin’s visible, they’re so busy with other things that they forget to create physical reminders of Merlin’s existence.

The only one without presents is Arthur, or so Merlin thinks, but then his mum hands Arthur a wrapped parcel and Merlin gets to watch as Arthur’s cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“I got you something as well,” he says, and produces a wrapped parcel from behind his back. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Hunith laughs once she’s unwrapped it. “A recommendation from your sister and her sister, I take it?”

There’s an adorable, boyish smile on Arthur’s face, and he shrugs. “I had a feeling you might enjoy this more than the one you read the other day.”

“I’m sure I will,” Hunith says, and then gives the gift in Arthur’s hand a pointed look. “Now open yours.”

Arthur swallows visibly, and then Merlin gets to watch as Arthur unwraps the large, leather bound photo album that his mum loves so much.

“Mum,” Merlin says in quiet surprise.

“Shh,” she hushes him. “I’ve had it for over thirty years, I don’t mind Arthur having it for the next thirty.”

Arthur’s eyes are just the slightest bit glassy when he looks up at Hunith again. “Thank you.”

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

After lunch, Arthur excuses himself to the library. He wants to have another look through the photo album by himself.

Just having all these pictures of his mother – and his father – is… Hunith has done something unbelievably wonderful and kind for him, and at the same time, it’s the worst thing she could’ve given him today.

He sits in the library with the album open on his lap and he’s dialling Morgana’s number before he even realises that he got his phone.

“Arthur!” she says, sounding excited and happy. “Merry Christmas!”

He smiles despite himself. “Merry Christmas, Gana. How are Morgause and Mordred? How are you?”

Morgana sighs on the other end. “Morgause is well, and Mordred is excited. He danced around the living room when he unwrapped that game console you got him.”

Arthur smiles. “Good. I need someone who’ll play Mario Kart with me. I fully expect him to be ready to race me when I get back.”

There’s a silence on the other end that says more than a thousand words.

Eventually, Morgana asks into the quiet: “And when will that be?”

Arthur stares out the window, watching Merlin who’s apparently managed to talk Will into a snowball fight, and is now fighting for his life.

“In January. There’s something I have to take care of first.”

“Something to do with that Hunith woman? Is she up to something after all?” Morgana sounds suspicious, and she’s lowered her voice some more, probably to avoid Morgause overhearing. Morgause tends to fly off the handle when she thinks someone’s betraying the family. Arthur really doesn’t need her to jump to conclusions and come to Wales to create a scene.

“No,” Arthur reassures her. “It’s— No. Hunith is wonderful. She’s, erm, she’s given me a picture album with all of these photos of father and my mother. They used to be friends at uni, apparently. She and my parents.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Morgana says and Arthur can hear that she’s making that face where she looks at you with big, sad eyes and her lips are slightly parted and you just _know_ that she’s feeling so sad for you.

“It’s alright,” Arthur says, even though he can feel his eyes stinging with unspilled tears. “She’s told me a few stories about them when they were young, so that’s good. It just made me think a lot about… how they were so happy so young. I’ve been older than her for a few years now, but she and father were together for a long time before she got pregnant, and they knew they’d spend the rest of their lives together almost from the start. And I can’t keep a relationship going long enough to even celebrate a three month anniversary.”

“Arthur,” she says, and it’s in that tone of voice again.

“And now father’s gone, too and I don’t— he never got to see me happy like he was.”

Arthur says the last bit all in a rush to get it out before his voice breaks, but the moment he finishes, the tears finally spill over and clamps his mouth shut to keep the sob inside.

“I’m sorry,” Morgana says softly, soothingly. “I don’t know what else to say, Arthur. You’re one of the best people I know, and I want you to be that happy, too. I don’t know what else I can say.”

“‘s alright,” Arthur manages. “I’m gonna hang up now. Bye, Gana.”

He doesn’t wait for her reply, just ends the call and drops the phone onto the opened album. He stays hidden in the corner of the library, letting the tears come for as long as they will. Maybe he should’ve gone up to his room for this after all.

After a while, or maybe an hour, Arthur’s lost his sense of time before he even called Morgana, he hears the door open. Quickly he wipes at his eyes and cheeks, painfully aware that he probably looks exactly like what he’s been doing.

“Arthur?” Merlin calls, and Arthur clears his throat to reply.

He’s about to say that he’ll be there in just a moment, when Merlin rounds the corner and sees him.

Merlin stops dead in his tracks when he spots Arthur.

“What happened?”

“Nothing new,” Arthur says. He clears his throat again when he hears how scratchy his voice sounds.

“Are you alright?” Merlin takes two more steps forward, then stops again.

“Yes,” Arthur says. “I’m well.”

“ _Well_ ,” Merlin says, stressing the word. “You don’t look it.”

Arthur forces a smile. “I will be, eventually.”

Merlin gives him another long look. “Do you want some company, or should I leave you alone?”

Arthur gives the question some thought. Merlin’s already seen him like this, and Arthur admitted not wanting to go home just a few days ago. At this point, there’s really no reason to hide any further.

“No, some company would be appreciated. If you have time to spare,” Arthur says. There’s always the chance that Merlin wants to make better use of his time here than to keep Arthur company.

“I have,” Merlin says, smiling a little wider, and taking the last few steps until he can drop down onto the little two-seater that Arthur’s using.

“Mum’s only ever shown me the album once, I think. Want to let me take another look and make fun of their terrible fashion choices?” Merlin says, waggling his eyebrows, and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, that sounds great.”

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Dinner’s a gorgeous affair with loads of good food, crackers and paper crowns. His mum always manages to even make brussel sprouts edible, and Merlin ends up eating way more that he used to, and certainly more than he should. Nowadays his metabolism is fucked up to the point where he can have three portions of Christmas dinner and still want more for pudding.

At least he’s not hungry anymore, and also not feeling too stuffed to fall asleep right after the table has been cleared. Arthur only managed one serving of dinner and a little bit of dessert, but Merlin suspects that’s mostly learned behaviour not to overeat.

Smart, really, when you think about it. Merlin wonders if he’ll ever have to get used to not overeating again. Arthur and he might not even find a solution to Merlin’s curse, or if they do, it might have consequences they don’t expect. Learning how to eat in moderation again would be the smallest price to pay to be visible full-time again, honestly.

Hunith goes to bed around ten, and then Will drags himself upstairs to his room less than half an hour later.

The fire’s dying down, and the room is dimly lit while Arthur and Merlin finish their wine and just sit in front of the fire, each enjoying the quiet of the night.

Arthur’s head is turned to the side as he watches the dwindling flames. The light casts flickering shadows over his profile, accentuating his nose and cheekbones. He’s gorgeous – Merlin has no other words for it. The crooked nose, the puffy lips, those blue eyes… If Merlin had had a type before, it would’ve been Arthur.

“I’m really glad you came here,” Merlin says. “I know the circumstances weren’t what you would’ve wanted, but I’m glad you found out about us.”

Arthur turns his head and offers Merlin a warm, soft smile that sets off a swarm of butterflies in the pit of Merlin’s stomach, and makes his skin tingle with anticipation.

“I’m glad, too,” Arthur replies quietly. “I wish I’d known sooner, but father must’ve had his reasons for keeping all of this a secret.”

“Why do you think he did it?” Merlin asks as he sets his empty glass down on a nearby table.

Arthur shrugs. “Maybe he wanted something that was just his. Maybe he was worried I’d object to his decision to help your mum with money. I really don’t know. When I first heard about it all, I was worried that my father had cheated on my mother with a second woman.”

Merlin grimaces. “God, I hope not. That would’ve made my mum a cheater, too.”

“Yes,” Arthur says, nodding. “And you might’ve turned out to be my half brother. Morgana’s got dark hair and pale skin, too, you know. I take after my mother, apparently, but she looks more like father.”

Merlin shivers. “Please don’t make me think about that. It would be terrible if we were related.”

“Thanks, Merlin,” Arthur says, voice full of sarcasm. “Don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel.”

“No!” Merlin says quickly. “I didn’t mean that you’re terrible. I just meant that it’d be awful if you were my brother because then I really shouldn’t—“ he breaks off, and bites his tongue.

Fuck. He’d almost said that out loud, hadn’t he?

“Shouldn’t what?” Arthur asks, squinting at him. “Scam me? Be nice to me? Morgana’s forever taking the piss, I really don’t need another sibling who’s made it their goal to torment me.”

Merlin smiles weakly. “Want you,” he finishes.

Arthur’s eyes widen almost comically, and Merlin watches as Arthur licks his lips and swallows thickly.

“You want me,” Arthur doesn’t ask. He’s setting his almost empty glass down next to Merlin’s and leans forward in his chair. It’s gone darker in the room, only embers still alive in the fireplace now.

“I do,” Merlin admits.

“Because I’m a new face around here?” Arthur wants to know. A moment later, Merlin’s hand is taken into Arthur’s, and Arthur’s thumb is stroking over the inside of Merlin’s wrist.

His breath catches in his throat as he responds. “No. I see new faces all the time in the hotel. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as you.”

Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s hand tightens for a moment before he deliberately loosens his hold.

“Were you going to tell me before I left?” Arthur asks, his voice gone quieter and his breath puffing softly against Merlin’s cheek. He must’ve moved closer, too, although Merlin can’t recall him moving at all.

“I don’t know,” Merlin says. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

“But you’ve thought about me?” Arthur’s other hand slides up Merlin’s arm, over his shoulder, to cup the side of his neck to rest just under his ear, and caress the sensitive skin there. Between his wrist and that spot, Merlin’s barely coherent anymore.

“Yes,” he moans softly. “Of course I have.”

This time, Merlin notices when Arthur moves because, suddenly, their mouths are so close that when Arthur licks his lips again, the tip catches Merlin’s as well.

“May I kiss you?” Arthur asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Merlin doesn’t respond, he just leans forward the tiniest bit, and then their mouths are touching. He tilts his head to the side, just enough to make the angle more comfortable and to avoid bumping their noses. Arthur’s hand slips into the hair at Merlin’s nape, and he moves his lips slowly against Merlin’s, catching his lower lip between his.

The sensation is overwhelming. There are hands on his skin, and a mouth on his, and Merlin doesn’t even remember the last time he’s done this with someone else. Years in which the only kisses he’s had were his mum’s on his forehead or cheek. Years in which no one’s touched him like _this_ , with intent to make him feel good and to take any pleasure they’re allowed in return.

Merlin makes a soft noise and finally grips onto Arthur’s thigh with his free hand, sliding up as far as he dares.

Time seems to both slow to a halt, as well as speed up around them. Merlin only realises the flames have gone out completely when he shivers from the cold creeping into the room.

“We should take this somewhere warmer,” he says quietly, pulling only far enough away to lean their foreheads together. “This room gets really cold once the fire’s out. And I don’t much fancy mum finding us here.”

Merlin feels Arthur’s chuckle more than he hears it. “You’re right.”

He takes his hand away from Merlin’s neck but doesn’t let go of his wrist yet. Together they stand and head towards the lobby and the stairs.

Once they’ve reached the landing upstairs, Arthur tugs Merlin closer once more and kisses him again.

“We can stop here for the night, if you like,” Arthur says however much later.

“Or,” Merlin says, trying to sound seductive but probably just sounding awkward, “you could come back to my room.”

“I would like that very much, if that’s what you want.”

Merlin smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

“I want,” he says a moment later, and opens the door to his room.

He realises a second too late that he didn’t exactly tidy up before, but he hopes that Arthur’s too distracted to notice any of the clothes strewn about.

As it turns out, Arthur’s too busy pulling Merlin closer for another kiss to notice anything else. They manage to move to the bed without tripping or falling down, despite the fact that, as soon as they were behind closed doors, Arthur’s kisses have become greedier.

The gentle press of lips and soft licks from before have been replaced by lightly nipping teeth and insistent strokes of tongue. Merlin opens his mouth wider for Arthur’s, fisting his hand in Arthur’s shirt to keep him close.

Merlin has forgotten how good it feels to be touched by someone else. He might toss off three times a day whenever he rejoins the real world, but nothing could compare to how good it feels when Arthur slips a hand under Merlin’s shirt and puts his palm flat on his back.

His entire body is lit up, just waiting for Arthur to touch him more.

“Please,” he moans. “Please, can we be naked?”

Arthur grins into their next kiss, and then pulls away far enough to undo the buttons on his shirt without elbowing Merlin.

Merlin turns away for just a moment to turn on the lamp on his bedside table. It’s almost too bright for a moment, but when his eyes get used to the soft, yellow light, Arthur’s already mostly naked, broad chest and powerful thighs on display. Merlin hardly knows where to look first.

“Want some help?” Arthur asks, smile audible in his voice. Merlin tears his eyes away from the sight of his thick thighs. God, he wants nothing more than to have those around his waist.

“Hm?”

“With your clothes. Or would you prefer to keep the rest of them on. I’d prefer we both be naked, but if you’d rather keep your trousers on, I won’t argue. Might get messy though,” Arthur says, taking two steps towards the bed and Merlin.

“Oh,” Merlin responds eloquently. “No, uh.”

He quickly undoes the button and zipper on his jeans, and pushes them off. He does his best to take his socks off at the same time, but ends up hopping about gracelessly for a few seconds before he manages it.

When he looks back at Arthur, Arthur’s watching him with an amused smile but nothing in his expression says that he’s making fun of Merlin or finds waiting for him tedious.

Finally, Merlin’s managed to get his shirt off as well. He feels awkward just standing there with nothing but his pants on. He holds his left arm with his right, rubbing his hand up and down nervously.

Arthur seems to take it as a sign that Merlin’s cold and steps forward to wrap him up in his arms.

It helps, too. Merlin relaxes, and the heat of Arthur’s body warms him perfectly.

Arthur leans in and runs his nose along Merlin’s jaw, placing soft kisses as he goes.

“Have you done this with anyone since the accident?” Arthur asks quietly, and Merlin just shakes his head. He’s got his arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist, and his head tipped to the side to give Arthur room for exploration. He’s rewarded with soft, almost nipping kisses to the side of his neck.

“Have you done anything like this before?” Arthur continues.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yes, Arthur. I’m not a shy wallflower who’s never got into anyone’s pants before.” He hopes his tone is as teasing as he intends it to be. Arthur soft chuckle indicates that it probably was.

“Just making sure. There’s no shame in not having done it, whether at 23 or 28.”

Merlin digs his fingers into Arthur’s back when Arthur nips his shoulder a little harder.

“No,” he says on a gasp. “There isn’t.”

Arthur turns Merlin’s head with two gentle fingers and kisses him again, much like he had in the sitting room earlier. It’s sweet and bone-meltingly tender, and Merlin wants to drown in this feeling of warmth and safety.

“I’m glad I’m not your first,” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin smiles. “Me, too. Here’s to hoping my blowjob skills haven’t suffered from the lack of practice.”

Arthur’s eyes go dark and he gets that look on his face that makes Merlin think he’s about to be devoured whole.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, voice hoarse with desire. “To get down on your knees for me?”

Merlin swallows thickly and nods. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you laid down instead. My floor’s kind of uncomfortable.”

Arthur smirks in return. “I could get you a cushion.”

“Or you could just lie down,” Merlin says, eyebrows raised.

Arthur’s smirk widens into a grin. “Fair enough.” And then he lies down, hands linked behind his head, legs spread. He’s still wearing pants – dark red boxer briefs that look amazing on him, of which Merlin will have to take a picture to look at in the future – and the hard line of his cock is clearly visible beneath the fabric.

Merlin licks his lips and doesn’t wait a moment longer to climb on top of Arthur and kiss him again, taking control this time. He stays braced above Arthur, grinding down against him, his own pants just adding to the friction on sensitive skin.

Large hands grip his hips, guiding him into a steady rhythm, or holding him back whenever Arthur needs him to stop for a while.

At some point, Merlin’s arms start to shake and he takes it as a sign to move things along.

He places kisses down Arthur’s chest and stomach until he reaches the waistband of his pants. Merlin could tease, and any other time he might have wanted to, but tonight that’s not what he wants, so he sits back and pulls Arthur’s pants down just enough to expose his cock and balls.

“I really want to do this without a condom,” Merlin murmurs, dragging the pants entirely off him.

“You can, I swear,” Arthur responds, voice raspy. “But it’s okay if you’d rather not risk it.”

Merlin weighs his options for a moment. He’s got enough supplies, he can easily spare a condom to suck Arthur off. And it is the safer option, that much is certain.

On the other hand, he really wants to taste Arthur, and it’s likely that this will be the only time Merlin is going to have sex in the foreseeable future – unless they manage to break the spell, or whatever has him trapped.

“Merlin?” Arthur prompts, gently running a hand up his thigh. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, offering him a smile. “Just making up my mind.”

He bends down to kiss Arthur’s mouth again, already addicted to it.

“I’m going to taste you,” he promises as he pulls away. “I trust you.”

And even if he didn’t, Merlin knows his body will revert back to its original state come the twenty-first of December next year.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, and pulls Merlin down into another kiss. Merlin indulges for a little while longer, but he breaks away before he can get too lost in the pleasure of Arthur’s mouth.

Instead, he repeats his path down Arthur’s torso and this time, when he reaches Arthur’s cock, still perfectly naked and hard for him, he licks the head slowly, savouring the salty taste of precome.

Arthur, for his part, seems to be absolutely happy to let Merlin do whatever he likes. His hands are linked behind his head again, and he’s watching Merlin with hooded eyes while Merlin slowly licks his lips, and then takes him into his mouth.

He does it slowly, moving down only a little bit at a time and pulling back up slowly ever so often. Merlin enjoys how Arthur’s breath hitches whenever he teases the underside of his cock with the tip of his tongue, or how he gasps any time Merlin sucks ever so gently.

Thankfully, Arthur’s not too large, which means that Merlin just about manages to fit all of him into his mouth. When he finally takes him in completely and then sucks, the groan that escapes Arthur has Merlin’s own cock twitching.

“Fuck,” Arthur pants as Merlin takes mercy and slides back up to gently suckle on the head for a few moments. “If this is you without practice, I fear for my life when you’re in top shape.”

Merlin grins. “I can’t tell if you’re volunteering to let me practice on you, or not.”

“Definitely volunteering,” Arthur says. “Absolutely volunteering.”

“Good,” Merlin says, and goes back down on him.

He’s got no idea how long he’s been working on Arthur, but he has to stop when his jaw begins to hurt, and when he pulls away for good, Arthur immediately drags him into another messy kiss, greedily licking his own taste from Merlin’s mouth.

“That was the best I’ve ever felt in my life,” Arthur says between nips to Merlin’s lower lip. “And I haven’t even come yet.”

“We should work on that,” Merlin replies. “But let me take off my pants first.”

He kneels up to peel his underwear off. There’s a large wet spot at the front, and Merlin hisses when sodden cotton pulls away from sensitive skin.

When he looks back at Arthur, he finds him staring, eyes fixed on Merlin’s crotch. Merlin has to break his line of sight unfortunately to actually get the pants off – something he manages without falling over, thank God – but then he’s back in Arthur’s arms, entirely skin to skin, and fuck, it feels absolutely perfect to just have that much contact.

Merlin once read about touch starvation and during five years of barely being touched – or being able to touch – no amount of hugs from his mum or any of his friends has entirely managed to sate it.

This, though, feeling Arthur pressed along the length of Merlin’s body, both of them naked and sweaty and hot – it might come close, if only Merlin gets to have it for the rest of his stay.

Or it might leave him with an even bigger craving.

Merlin hides his face against Arthur’s neck and just breathes for a moment. He’s scared of what will happen in the new year. They have a week left until Merlin disappears again, and the chance that they’ll break the spell until then is tiny. And then Merlin goes away, and so will Arthur, and who knows what’s going to happen to either one of them until next Christmas.

Arthur’s hand rubs his back in slow, broad strokes.

“What happened?” he asks Merlin quietly. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Merlin rasps. “Just… got lost in thought. I’m afraid of leaving.”

Arthur tightens his hold on Merlin, and turns his head to press a kiss into Merlin’s hair.

“Don’t think about that now. It’s still Christmas; we get to enjoy ourselves and forget the world for a little while longer.”

Arthur’s voice is soothing, as is his gentle touch. Merlin finally stops shaking and relaxes again.

“There, that’s better,” Arthur murmurs, and then he wraps his arms around Merlin, and rolls them until Merlin’s lying beneath him.

Being manhandled shouldn’t be that hot, but fuck, is it ever. Whatever arousal Merlin had lost while lost in his own head is back at the mere thought of Arthur being strong enough to even do that to him with such ease.

“My turn,” Arthur says, and then he starts kissing down Merlin’s chest – except he stops by his nipples, flicking the tip of his tongue over them, and gently pulling them with his teeth. This is not something anyone’s ever done for Merlin, or something he’s much done for himself, but fuck, he really, really should have because every time the sensation’s a little sharper, it goes straight to his cock.

He’s got a hand buried in Arthur’s hair before he even realises he’s moved it, and the other one’s stretched above his head, fist pushing against the headboard.

“Please,” he moans, not even sure if he’s asking Arthur to keep going or to stop or what.

Arthur seems to know, though, because he eases off a few moments later, and continues his path downwards until he’s sucking Merlin’s cock into his mouth in one go.

Merlin can’t help it. It’s been ages since anyone’s done this for him, and it’s quite possibly the first time anyone’s done it that well. His hips buck up into Arthur’s mouth, and it’s only when Arthur puts a large hand on Merlin’s hip and, fuck, holds him down, that Merlin manages to keep still.

It feels like it’s only been seconds since Arthur started, but Merlin can already feel his orgasm building.

“Stop, please, Arthur,” Merlin groans, tugging on Arthur’s hair to make him stop. He needn’t have worried though. The moment Merlin says it, Arthur pulls off of him. His cheeks are flushed, his lips spit-slick and swollen, and fuck, Merlin needs to come so badly but he wants to make this last even more.

“Come here,” Merlin says, voice gone breathy. He reaches for Arthur, and Arthur goes willingly, bracing himself above Merlin just high enough so they can kiss.

“Didn’t want to finish yet?” Arthur asks, a teasing smile playing around his lips.

Merlin shakes his head no. “I— I’d really like to fuck you, if that’s something you enjoy.”

The way Arthur’s cock twitches against Merlin’s hip leads Merlin to believe that yes, that _is_ something Arthur would like as well, but he still needs to hear the words.

“Yes,” Arthur says, nodding enthusiastically. “I do. I want you to fuck me.”

Merlin leans up to kiss him again, open-mouthed and eager. He feels around for his bedside table, and manages to get the drawer open and his hand inside, but then the angle on his wrist is too awkward, and he needs to actually break the kiss to look at what he’s doing.

“Just the lube,” Arthur says when Merlin finally has lube and condoms in his hand. “Unless you prefer to wear it, but… as far as I’m concerned, we don’t need it. You really are safe with me, I promise.”

Merlin drops the condoms back into the drawer. “I know.”

They roll onto their sides, facing each other, and together they work Arthur open slowly until Arthur’s making little needy sounds, and keeps rocking back onto Merlin’s fingers.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re ready?” Merlin asks, grinning against Arthur’s chin.

“Yes,” Arthur moans. “I’m not sure how much longer I can last, to be honest.”

Merlin knows it’s true. Arthur’s cock is incredibly wet at the tip, making it easy for Merlin to slide his own against it. They already had to stop rubbing against each other because it had almost made both of them come.

“I want you on your back, legs around me,” Merlin says as he pulls his fingers away slowly. “Do you think you can manage that?”

Arthur nods jerkily. “Yes, absolutely.”

He rolls over onto his back and shoves one of the many pillows Merlin likes to keep on his bed beneath his hips, another under his head.

Merlin has to take a moment just to look at him. Arthur’s face is flushed, his pupils are blown wide, and his chest covered in a light sheen of sweat. The hair on his chest, normally a tidy looking diamond shape, is mussed up from when Merlin kept running his fingers through it.

“I could come just from looking at you,” Merlin blurts out, and the teasing smirk is back on Arthur’s face. Merlin really ought not to find it so fucking hot.

“I’d rather you came from fucking me,” Arthur says, and, well, how could Merlin say no to _that_?

He settles between Arthur’s legs and grabs the lube again. His own touch almost sends him over the edge, and when he finally – _finally_ – pushes inside Arthur, the only way he holds out is by keeping a tight grip on the base of his cock.

“Oh bloody fucking hell,” Merlin groans as he slips inside. “That’s— fuck. I can’t.”

The fact that Arthur doesn’t make a smart remark about the loss of Merlin’s higher brain function is sign enough that he’s feeling much the same.

They stay still for a minute or two, forehead to forehead, just breathing and getting used to being so close to each other.

“Can you move yet?” Arthur whispers eventually, and Merlin nods slowly.

He pulls out a little way, and then pushes back in. Slowly, he sets up a gentle rhythm, and then, as he pulls away, he shifts his centre of gravity and gets up on his knees enough to go faster.

Arthur’s legs are wrapped around him, just like Merlin had wanted, and Merlin can hold onto Arthur’s thighs as he fucks him harder.

“Good?” Merlin asks, eyes fixed on Arthur’s face, and the way his mouth has dropped open on a silent moan.

The response is a non-verbal nod, followed by a somewhat verbal groan that could’ve been an attempt to say Merlin’s name, or send a prayer to God, or possibly both.

“I know,” Merlin pants. “Me, too. Can you touch yourself?”

Arthur shakes his head, then nods, then just reaches for himself. It takes him only a couple of strokes to come all over himself, mouth wide open on another silent moan and his entire body tense. Merlin chases his own orgasm even as Arthur comes down from his, and it only takes him a few more hard thrusts until he, too, is coming hard, Arthur’s name on his lips, and fingers digging deep into Arthur’s thighs.

There’ll be bruises in a few hours, and Merlin hopes to God that Arthur won’t mind because, if it’s up to Merlin, there’ll be more all over Arthur’s body to make sure he’s got a few visible reminders at least for a little while after Merlin’s gone.

Merlin pulls out carefully, and leans down for another soft, slow kiss.

They do break apart eventually, once the come on Arthur’s skin has started to dry, and Merlin’s starting to worry about permanently staying the mattress if they don’t clean up soon.

He gets them wet towels from the bathroom for their skin and fresh sheets from the cupboard in the hall (almost freezing his toes off on the cold floor), and once they’re all cleaned up, they snuggle up together under the covers, trading lazy kisses until they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

❅❄❅❄❅  
29th December  
❅❄❅❄❅

Even though Arthur would like nothing more than to spend the next week in bed with Merlin, they have a mystery to solve, and once that’s done, Arthur will have all the time in the world to spend with Merlin.

That doesn’t stop him from indulging in a round of morning blowjobs, nor from pulling Merlin aside every now and then to kiss him whenever the mood strikes.

To be fair, Merlin does much the same.

They really do get work done, though. Every page of Gaius’ research notes is read and then read again. They even go into the really absurd ones, like alien abduction theories, because, well, they are running out of options by the twenty-eighth.

Arthur’s starting to get worried. Whatever happened to Merlin hasn’t happened to anyone else before. Or if it has, no one’s written or talked about it.

Not that Arthur blames them. He hardly believed a word until he saw it happening, and if he’d been told the story without proof? He’d have dismissed it as some sort of fantasy.

Viewed objectively, this is the kind of story that gets told in cheesy holiday movies – with the exception that those always end happily.

It’s the middle of the night, tomorrow’s the twenty-ninth of December, which means they only have four days left until Merlin disappears again.

Arthur tightens his hold on Merlin, who’s sleeping in his arms. They’ve gone to bed together every night since Christmas day, and by now Arthur’s bum is perfectly sore, his jaw is getting a much needed workout, and they’re going to have to buy a new bottle of lube soon.

He wouldn’t change a single thing. In fact, he’d happily never have an un-sore bum ever again if only he can find out how to free Merlin.

Merlin makes a sound in his sleep that Arthur’s already come to recognise as “loosen your grip on me or I’ll start kicking in my sleep”, so he lets go reluctantly and turns onto his back.

There must be something obvious they’re missing. Tomorrow, Arthur will go over Gaius’ notes again. It’s not possible that someone so well-versed in the lore and history of a place hasn’t found the answer yet.

Half an hour later, Arthur still hasn’t fallen asleep, and so he carefully climbs out of bed, bundles up in thick socks and his plush robe, and wanders downstairs into the library. If he can find something to read that’s not related to Merlin’s problem, it might help him take his mind off of it, and fall asleep.

He creeps downstairs, careful not to walk into anything or make any noise. He doesn’t exactly know where either Will or Hunith are sleeping, but he’d rather not wake them up in the middle of the night.

In the library, the overhead light is too bright when he turns it on, and he averts his eyes, shielding them with his hand. That’s when he spots the book of regional folklore he was going to read a few days ago after the incident with the ornaments.

Arthur picks it up and takes another look at the cover. It depicts a figure standing in shadow. Someone with long hair and a long cloak, standing between trees. What’s most striking though is the helmet of antlers it wears, and the pale eyes that are the only thing visible where the face should be.

This is exactly what he needs to distract himself. He turns off the light again, and slowly creeps back upstairs and into bed. Merlin’s still on his side, turned away from Arthur.

Arthur climbs back into bed and turns on the small bedside lamp Merlin has. It’s not too bright, thank God, and provides just enough light so Arthur can read by it without disturbing Merlin.

His eyes are starting to droop when they catch on something.

Gwyn ap Nudd, ruler of fairies, _and ruler of the Otherworld._

Suddenly, Arthur’s wide awake again.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

“So, the ruler of the fairies made me immortal?” Merlin asks once Arthur has explained everything for a third time.

The first time, Merlin was still too much asleep, having been woken up at three in the morning and all, and the second time Merlin was being too stroppy to listen – what with having been woken up at fucking three in the fucking morning and all.

Eventually, though, Arthur got him to listen and to pay attention, and now it’s well past four and Merlin has finally grasped what Arthur has been trying to tell him all along.

“Yes,” Arthur says. “Just as you were about to die from the injuries you sustained during the car accident, Gwen up Nood appeared—”

“Gwyn ap Nudd,” Merlin interrupts. “It’s not Gwen up Nood, it’s Gwyn ap Nudd. You pronounce the last bit like _neath_ , you know, like in _beneath_.”

“Bloody Welsh,” Arthur mutters under his breath. “Couldn’t have just spelled it like that, could they?”

Merlin tuts at him affectionately, and Arthur huffs out a breath. “Alright, so, Gwyn ap Nudd,” he continues hesitantly, and when Merlin nods encouragingly, Arthur doesn’t mind so much anymore that the Welsh don’t spell it the way they say it.

“Ruler of the fairies, ruler of the Otherworld, and also the one who leads the wild hunt, yes? A wild hunt during which the—” he hesitates, unwilling to mispronounce another name, “spectral hounds charge ahead to chase… God knows what.”

“Cŵn Annwn,” Merlin says, nodding.

“Is that what the hounds or called, or what they’re hunting?” Arthur asks.

“The hounds,” Merlin says, smiling. “Repeat after me: Coon annun.”

Arthur tries, and must do a decent job because Merlin keeps nodding encouragingly.

“We’ll teach you Welsh yet,” Merlin says, grinning brightly. Arthur, for his part, is not so sure, but maybe he will learn – if Merlin’s teaching him.

“So, the Cŵn Annwn ran ahead, and that’s probably the howling your mum heard just before the car went off the road. Your dad might’ve hit one of them, or whatever they were chasing. Makes me wonder if the wild hunt is said to be a herald of great disaster because it’s always the cause of it.”

Merlin’s frowning deeply. “You really think that’s what happened? We happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, came across a fairy hunt, and then my dad died, my mum landed in a wheelchair, but for some reason, the ruler of the fair folk decided to spare my life by making me near immortal and trapping me in an in-between world for most of the year?”

“It’s as good as any other explanation we’ve found up until now,” Arthur counters. “Actually, it’s better than most because it makes sense. The book says the wild hunt occurs on winter solstice.”

“Yes,” Merlin says slowly, “but it’s a book on local folklore. Quite literally fairy tales.”

“Merlin,” Arthur responds patiently, “you do realise that there’s no scientific explanation for what’s going on with you, yes? What’s happened to you is _quite literally_ , magical. Even your uncle Gaius agrees.”

“Uncle Gaius also believes in alien abduction,” Merlin points out, which, fair, doesn’t improve Gaius’ credibility. “Uncle Gaius also didn’t think to consider the fairy tales,” he adds, “which means that even he thinks it’s unlikely they’re true.”

“Oh, and that means they must be purely fictional?” Arthur argues. “You just said that your uncle Gaius isn’t reliable. By that logic, him not believing in the fairy tales is proof that they’re real.”

Merlin opens his mouth to argue, and then probably has to admit that Arthur is right, so he closes it again.

Arthur takes the opportunity to press a kiss to it.

“It’s New Year’s Eve the day after tomorrow. I bet that if we’re going to find Gwyn ap Nudd any time before May, it’ll be tomorrow night. I’ll read up some more and we’ll see if there’s a chance to, I don’t know, summon them, or at the very least invite them to show themselves to us.”

Merlin’s still looking doubtful, so Arthur invests several more minutes in kissing him. Not that it’s a hardship or anything. He likes kissing Merlin a lot, rather more than he’s ever liked kissing anyone else.

The thought creeps up on him unbidden, and Arthur quickly turns his mind away from it before he can think too much about how much Merlin has come to mean to him in such a short time. There’ll be enough time for that once they’ve solved the mystery.

“I don’t know,” Merlin says when Arthur finally pulls away long enough to let him catch his breath. “What if it’s a waste of time? I don’t exactly have unlimited supplies of that, you know.”

“What if it’s not a waste of time?” Arthur argues. “What if it’s the key to freeing you and getting you to stay indefinitely?”

A glint of hope shines in Merlin’s eyes, and Arthur knows he wants to believe it so badly.

He takes Merlin’s hand and brings it up to his mouth so he can place a gentle kiss on the inside of Merlin’s wrist.

“Please let’s try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try again in spring, and I’ll keep looking for answers, but I don’t want to waste the one chance we have right now. We have nothing to lose and everything to win.”

Merlin exhales shakily. “Okay,” he says finally. “But we don’t tell mum or Will, or anyone. I don’t want them to get their hopes up.”

Arthur grins, and leans forward for another snog. “Deal,” he says, just before pressing their mouths together once more.

❅❄❅❄❅  
31st December  
❅❄❅❄❅

It’s the last hour of the year, and Arthur can honestly think of dozens of things he’d rather be doing than wander around a forest in the middle of a freezing night.

However, it was his idea they do this, and it’s potentially going to free Merlin from his curse, or ill-advised blessing, or whatever you want to call it. If Arthur’s right – and he’s sure that he is – then Gwyn ap Nudd probably thought they’d done Merlin a huge favour.

Arthur has still no idea how to summon Gwyn. He’s read a lot about them in the last two days, and was most surprised to find that Gwyn ap Nudd was part of King Arthur’s retinue. Unfortunately, most sources when they talk about it, only state that King Arthur summoned Gwyn ap Nudd – not _how_ he did.

Which means that at this point, all Arthur can think to do is walk around the forest and call Gwyn’s name every so often.

“It’s getting close to midnight,” Merlin says unhelpfully after they’ve been walking around for what feels like ages. Arthur’s feet are frozen solid inside his shoes, and his nose is probably about to turn black from frostbite, that’s how cold it feels.

“Don’t you think we should head back?” Merlin adds hopefully when Arthur doesn’t reply.

“Just a little longer,” Arthur grits out. Then he calls for Gwyn again.

Later, he won’t know if it’s because it was exactly midnight, or because he was in the right spot, or because he said it differently this time. All he does remember is that suddenly, a light appeared only a few metres away from them, and in the light – much like on the cover of the book that started it all – stands a tall figure with a long cloak over their shoulders, a helmet topped with mighty antlers on their head, and bright eyes that seem to glow in the dark.

Fingers dig hard into Arthur’s biceps, and he turns his head to find Merlin staring wide-eyed at Gwyn ap Nudd, monarch of the fair folk, and ruler of the Otherworld.

Arthur carefully pries Merlin’s hand off his arm, and takes it into his. He squeezes it for courage – although his or Merlin’s, he’s not sure – and steps forward.

“Gwyn ap Nudd,” Arthur says into the eerie quiet of the night.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Gwyn responds. His voice is unlike anything Arthur’s ever heard before. It’s as if dozens of voices spoke at the same time, and yet it rings as clear as a bell.

Gwyn steps forward as well, and once Arthur’s eyes have adjusted to the light, he can make out Gwyn’s face.

A face that’s so beautiful, Arthur can hardly put it into words. While the eyes are bright, they’re not actually glowing – something that Arthur finds rather comforting. Gwyn’s cheekbones are even sharper than Merlin’s, and the light that seems to emanate from Gwyn themself, reflects beautifully on their smooth, rich black skin.

“For what purpose have you summoned me?” Gwyn asks in that same beautiful voice as before. “It has been many centuries since I last encountered you.”

Before Arthur can answer, Gwyn’s gaze shifts, and from the way Merlin sucks in a breath, Arthur knows they’re looking directly at Merlin now.

“You,” Gwyn says. “I remember you.”

“You do?” Merlin says, voice shaky. Arthur can feel how tense Merlin is.

“Your mother prayed for your life,” Gwyn says, inclining his head just a fraction.

“She did?” Merlin blurts, taking a step forward until he’s right at Arthur’s shoulder. “Is that why I’m trapped?”

“Trapped?” Gwyn says, sounding curious now, tilting his head to the side. “You live, do you not?”

“I mean, in a sense,” Merlin says, voice entirely steady now. Before Merlin can start arguing with Gwyn and make things worse, Arthur decides it’s best that he takes over talking.

“Gwyn,” Arthur says, not sure if it’s alright to be so informal, but then again, Gwyn does think he’s the actual King Arthur, or at least one of his descendants, so it’s probably alright to be so informal, one monarch to another monarch. “I sought you out to learn why Merlin has been caught in-between worlds, and to free him, if it’s possible.”

“His mother prayed for his life,” Gwyn repeats. “It was too late for his father, but him I could fetch back just in time. But magic has been going out of the world, and all my strength was only just enough to give him the life he has. I allowed him to observe his world, not feel hunger or pain, never age, and to join his loved ones every solstice for exactly twelve days. He is part of the balance of the world now, and without someone else to take his place, he cannot be released from the life he has.”

Arthur swallows. “And if someone did take his place, would Merlin die? Or would he just… rejoin the human world?”

“Arthur—” Merlin says, tone wary. He puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, but Arthur won’t look at him. If he did, he won’t be able to do what needs to be done.

“He’d be human as he was before. All the time he missed will be returned to him and he shall be as he would have been,” Gwyn says.

It’s about as informative as Gaius’ boys have been, but at least Gwyn seems to be the type who’s willing to explain further when Arthur asks – so that’s what he does.

“Is he going to go back in time to the accident?”

“No,” Gwyn says, shaking their head. “That magic has been beyond my reach for many centuries.”

“Right,” Arthur says slowly. “So, he’ll be human right now, no injuries, and... all the time he missed before shall be returned to him,” Arthur mutters quietly, thinking furiously.

“Arthur,” Merlin says again, sounding more urgent and tugging on Arthur’s shoulder now, but Arthur just keeps repeating Gwyn’s words over and over to himself, hoping to make sense of them.

“You mean I’ll look the age I’m supposed to,” Merlin says while Arthur’s still trying to work it out. “Don’t you?”

Gwyn smiles, and inclines their head. “You are correct,” they says.

“Oh,” Arthur says, because yes, that actually makes sense.

“So, Merlin will be human again, he’ll look his age, he’ll have no lasting damage from the accident or the years spent in-between worlds, and he’ll be free to go wherever he wants. That’s about it, yes?” Arthur asks, just to clarify.

“Yes,” Gwyn says, nodding slowly. “If another takes his place.”

“I don’t want anyone to take my—”

“I’ll do it!”

Merlin and Arthur both speak at the same time, but it’s Arthur that Gwyn’s eyes fix on, and – fuck. Now they’re actually glowing.

Actually, they’re not just glowing, it’s like they’re on fire, literally. Gleaming white flames lick over Gwyn’s temples and down towards his cheekbones, they move and flicker, and Arthur has never seen anything more terrifying yet beautiful in his entire life.

And then, in less than the blink of an eye, they return to what they were, and Gwyn closes them slowly as his mouth twists into a smile that’s as beautiful as it is sad.

No one says anything for a long few seconds, and then Gwyn opens their eyes, the smile vanished from their face.

“Your wish has been granted,” they say, and without another word, they vanish, and with them all the light.

It’s pitch-black all around them, and it takes Arthur a while until his eyes have adjusted again. That’s why he doesn’t see the slap coming.

His cheek stings, not just from cold now, but from Merlin’s naked hand.

 _He actually took his glove off for this_ , Arthur muses, and then he’s rubbing his hurting face.

“What the actual fuck were you thinking?” Merlin shouts.

“I was thinking, _Mer_ lin, that I’d much rather give you the chance to experience life again than let you stay trapped just one second longer,” Arthur snipes. Maybe he hadn’t expected Merlin to dance with joy, but being slapped wasn’t high on the list of possible reactions either.

“But now you’re trapped! I doubt your good buddy Gwyn’s gonna go for the same trick again next year. We can’t just switch off for all eternity, you realise?” Merlin shouts, hands balled into fists at his sides as if he wants to take another swing at Arthur. Arthur takes a step back, just to be safe.

“Yes,” Arthur says. “I do realise.”

In all honesty, he hadn’t really thought about it much. All he knew in that moment was that he didn’t want to let Merlin stay where he was when there was something Arthur could do about it.

“And what am I supposed to tell your family? Or your friends? What am I going to do when the police show up on my doorstep because Arthur bloody Pendragon has gone missing?” Merlin goes on, still shouting.

“I’ll call Morgana in the morning and explain,” Arthur says. “Will you please stop yelling? I want to go back to the hotel and see if all of my limbs are going to recover.”

Merlin, in response, shuts his mouth and doesn’t speak to Arthur again the entire journey back to the hotel.

Arthur supposes he sort of deserves it, but he really wishes Merlin wouldn’t start their last day together by first yelling at him and then giving him the silent treatment.

After all, it’ll be almost a whole year before they can actually talk to each other again.

❅❄❅❄❅  
1st January  
❅❄❅❄❅

Merlin still hasn’t said a word to him when they get out of bed a few hours later. All of Arthur’s limbs survived, thank God, and he did feel warm again after a long, hot shower. For a moment, he was worried Merlin would refuse to share the bed, but then he curled up next to Arthur and went to sleep.

“Please talk to me,” Arthur begs when they’re both coming back from breakfast. Neither of them said anything to Hunith or Will about where they’ve been last night or what they were doing. Will assumed – not entirely incorrectly – that Arthur wanted to go for a romantic stroll in the moonlight, and that they got lost, and that’s why Merlin is grumpy, because he wasn’t home when the new year began.

“I know you’re upset,” Arthur goes, scooting closer to where Merlin’s still curled up on his side, facing away from Arthur, but clearly awake from the way how tense his back looks.

“And I’m sorry it was me who upset you, but I’d do it all over again given the chance. You’ve been stuck for five years, and you deserve to go and see the world finally. You deserve to feel the sunshine on your skin, and explore far away places, and I’m happy I got to be the one who made that possible for you again.”

He dares to put a hand on Merlin’s hip, and when Merlin doesn’t tense further or pull away, Arthur slowly slides it over his stomach to hold him more closely.

“I regret nothing, because the truth is—” Arthur swallows, and closes his eyes.

The truth is, he thinks, that he’s never wanted to do anything for anyone as much as he wants to make Merlin happy. Merlin, in just a fortnight, has become the centre of Arthur’s world. Maybe it’s too fast, and Morgana, once he rings her, will probably defy reality and come here just in time to punch him in the face for being the most selfish and equally thick wanker on the planet, but Arthur can feel it in his gut that he’s done the right thing.

“The truth is that I’ve fallen in love with you,” Arthur says out loud. “And maybe it’s too soon to say it, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’d give up anything for you, Merlin, I really would.”

Merlin makes a choked sound and starts kicking his legs and waving his arms. Arthur thinks he’s pushed too hard, and that Merlin’s going to run now, but then Merlin turns in Arthur’s arms and kisses him.

Arthur’s so surprised he doesn’t even respond for several long moments, but then his arms wrap around Merlin and he’s kissing back just as desperately.

There are things they need to talk about, and Arthur thinks that Merlin might at least have forgiven him in part for what he did last night, but none of that’s important right now. All that counts is that Arthur’s got his hand and Merlin’s hair, and Merlin’s got his thigh between Arthur’s legs, and they’re each trying to be as close to the other as they can while they still can.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

Arthur knew that calling Morgana to explain everything to her would not be fun. In fact, he fully expected her not to believe a single word of what he was going to say, but he still had to do it. Merlin was right: Disappearing without warning anyone would only cause problems.

So he skypes her after lunch, and spends two and a half painful hours going over everything that’s happened since he arrived in Ealdor two weeks ago.

As he’d expected, she doesn’t believe him about the curse or Gwyn or anything, really, except the part where Arthur found himself a new boyfriend and has spent the last week shagging him senseless.

In the end, she still doesn’t believe him about the spell, but he does get her to promise that she won’t harass Merlin or his mother, or get the police or any other kind of investigator involved if she doesn’t hear from him until the twenty-first of December.

“I don’t claim to understand why you need to take a year off,” she says as they’re nearing the end of the call, “but I suppose everyone grieves in their own way. I’ll take care of the company for you while you’re gone, and by Christmas, they’ll all want me to stay on indefinitely, just you see.”

Arthur smiles at her. “I have no doubt about that.”

Morgana’s smile dims. “I’ll miss you, brother dear.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Arthur says, and then ends the call. He really can’t afford to cry in front of Morgana – she’d never let him live it down.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

“Doesn’t your mum want to stay to see you off?” Arthur asks quietly.

They’re on the sofa in the sitting room, the fire’s still going, and that and the lights on the Christmas tree are the only sources of light in the room, bathing it in warm yellow and orange.

“She doesn’t like to watch me disappear,” Merlin says. He’s lying mostly on top of Arthur, head pillowed on his chest, turned to watch the fire.

“I see,” Arthur says around a huge yawn. There’s not much time left, just under two hours until midnight, and he’s already dead tired, but determined to stay awake until it’s time to go. “And Will?”

“Told him to bugger off so I could snog my boyfriend in peace,” Merlin says, grin audible in his voice.

Arthur snorts. “Bet he liked that.”

“Hm,” Merlin hums. “Don’t really care. I’ll have more than enough time to talk to him in the morning. Not that he knows that, but still.”

They fall silent, and Arthur slips his hand under Merlin’s shirt to draw lazy patterns into his skin with the tips of his fingers.

“I’ll look for a way to break the curse for good,” Merlin says after a few minutes.

“No,” Arthur says, tapping the small of Merlin’s back. “There’ll be time for that later. Go and see the world. You’ve been stuck here for long enough. That was the whole point of offering myself.”

Merlin raises his head and looks at Arthur. “But then you’ll be stuck another year after this.”

Arthur shrugs. “So what? You’ve done it for five, I think I can do it for two at least.”

He gently pushes Merlin’s head back down onto his chest and keeps his hand in his hair, carding his fingers through it slowly. Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite manage to both stroke Merlin’s back and his hair in two different patterns, so he concentrates on the back but leaves his hand in Merlin’s hair nevertheless.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” Merlin says another few minutes later.

“Don’t be silly,” Arthur responds. “I dragged myself into it. _I_ convinced _you_ to look for a way to free you.”

“Still,” Merlin says, but Arthur clicks his tongue and Merlin shuts up.

“I love you, too,” Merlin says finally, and for this, Arthur nudges his head until Merlin gets the hint and leans up to kiss Arthur.

Arthur will happily spend the last hours of reality kissing Merlin, no problem.

Therefore, it’s even more of a shame that both of them fall asleep with less than half hour until midnight to go.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

At first he doesn’t realise where he is. The sun’s bright on his face, which is probably what woke him. The room feels warm, and now that he listens for it, there’s the sound of a crackling fire. Something soft’s covering him, one of the wool blankets Hunith keeps knitting undoubtedly, and he burrows deeper into it.

 _Something smells good_ , he thinks, _like tea and bacon. Shame I won’t have breakfast for another eleven and a half months again._

Arthur sits bolt-upright, blanket sliding off him and falling to the ground.

He slept through the night, he’s still on the couch – _sitting_ on the couch – and he can smell breakfast.

 _Why_ can he smell breakfast? Merlin said the only things he could do was see and hear things, not smell or touch anything.

He looks around wildly, searching for Merlin – and finding nothing.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. This cannot be happening. That sneaky, little, lying fuck of a fairy betrayed him!

Arthur leaps off the couch and is halfway across the room with a mind to go upstairs, get dressed, and charge back out into the forest to find Gwyn ap Nudd and make them explain themself, when the door to the sitting room opens.

“Rise and shine!” Merlin announces, breakfast tray in hand and enormous grin spread across his face.

Arthur stops dead in his tracks and stares.

“Oh, you’re up already,” Merlin says, clearly looking directly at Arthur. “And here I thought I could wake you with breakfast in bed. Well, on the couch anyway.”

Arthur has no idea what look’s on his face, but Merlin’s expression softens, and he sets the tray down on the nearest table.

“Breathe, Arthur. You’re alive, you’re visible, and I promise you that you’re corporeal. I woke up half an hour ago on top of you, so I know that for a fact.”

Merlin’s close enough to touch now, and Arthur reaches out to brush his fingers against Merlin’s cheek. When his fingers make contact with smooth skin, he inhales sharply, and steps closer to envelop Merlin in a hug.

“We’re both here,” he says into Merlin’s neck. “How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin says, wrapping his arms around Arthur just as tightly. “But, you know, gift horse, mouth, and all that.”

Arthur just clings to Merlin harder.

By the time they let go of each other, breakfast has gone cold, but Arthur eats it anyway, never letting go of Merlin’s hand – just to be safe.

❅❄❅❄❅  
21st December – Again  
❅❄❅❄❅

The night’s cold, the first snow has fallen earlier that day, and the forest is quiet and peaceful as Merlin and Arthur head home from the solstice festival in the village.

Tomorrow, Morgana, Morgause and Mordred will arrive at the hotel, and they’ll all spend the rest of the year together – Arthur’s favourite people, all in one place.

It’s good to be back here. They’d spent the first two weeks in January at the hotel, because Arthur still hadn’t been convinced he wouldn’t disappear after twelve days. But then January the thirteenth had dawned, and Arthur was still there, so he’d called Morgana and told her that he hadn’t disappeared at all.

He still took the year off, though, leaving her in charge. Now that he could, he wanted to take Merlin travelling. And so they’d gone everywhere Arthur could think of. All over Europe and once they were done with that, on to other continents.

They’d returned from Australia only a few days ago and, after a quick stop in London, they’d come straight back to Ealdor.

In a way, things hadn’t changed much for the people who lived here – Merlin was still gone for most of the year, but the difference was that now he could call any time he liked, or come back whenever he wanted.

“‘S good to be home,” Merlin says, arm linked with Arthur’s, both of them walking in perfect synchronicity.

“Hm,” Arthur hums. He’s been watching a light that seems to come from somewhere inside the forest. They’re on the little path that cuts right through the forest to get to the village, and Arthur doesn’t much fancy stepping off it to go exploring the undergrowth in the middle of the night, but the light looks familiar.

It takes him another few minutes of walking before he realises what it is, and stops.

“Arthur?”

Arthur tugs him closer and points towards the light in the forest.

“I believe we’re being summoned,” he says.

Merlin plants his feet and doesn’t move when Arthur takes a step forward.

“They can’t have you. Not now. It’s been a year, they had their chance,” Merlin says, voice full of steel.

“I don’t think they’ve come to take me,” Arthur says. “Let’s just go and talk to them, yes?”

Merlin holds fast a few more seconds, but then allows Arthur to drag him along, off the path and into the forest, directly walking towards Gwyn ap Nudd.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Gwyn greets, their voice even more beautiful than Arthur remembered.

“Gwyn ap Nudd,” Arthur says, inclining his head.

“It is good to see you again, old friend,” Gwyn says, a smile blooming on their face – a face that Arthur has tried to describe many times but never even came close.

“And you,” he says politely. “Although I must admit I don’t understand why I haven’t been trapped in-between worlds this last year.”

Gwyn’s smile stretches into a broad grin, and they raise their arms at their sides, palms turned up towards the sky.

“I could not break the spell I invoked myself,” Gwyn says. “I had become much too weak. But, Arthur Pendragon, all it took was a sacrifice freely given.” Gwyn gestures at Arthur. “And no one has given more freely than when you gave yourself so your love may be free.”

Merlin gasps, and Arthur’s mouth drops open.

“You mean that’s all it was? I offered myself and that broke the spell?” Arthur asks.

Gwyn inclines their head, smile still firmly in place.

“And you couldn’t have told me right away?” Arthur adds, sounding just as indignant as he feels.

The sound Gwyn makes was more musical than any symphonie Arthur’s ever heard, and he realises that Gwyn’s laughing.

“I could not,” Gwyn says. “To tell you of what you have done would have clouded your intent. You had to believe you were giving up your own life for his until it was time to pay. Only then could the spell be broken.”

Arthur presses his lips together. He still would’ve liked to have known that he’d broken the spell, but magic’s weird, and he doesn’t dare argue the finer points – especially almost a year after the fact.

“I suppose it’s fine since it all worked out for the better,” he concedes, and Gwyn inclines their head again.

“Was that all you came to say?” Merlin asks. “Or is there anything else?”

Gwyn’s gaze shifts to Merlin, but his smile never wavers. “I came to bid you farewell. I shall not appear before you again after tonight, no matter how often you call for me.”

“No more last minute rescues?” Merlin needles, but Arthur can hear the smile in his voice.

“Not for you,” Gwyn says, and that, of all things, makes Merlin chuckle.

“Yeah, fair enough. We’ve had enough magical meddling in our lives, I suppose.”

“Quite,” Gwyn says, inclining their head.

“Well,” Merlin says after an awkward moment of silence. “We best be off as well. There’s hot chocolate waiting for us at home.”

“Farewell, dear friends,” Gwyn says, and before Arthur can return the greeting, Gwyn’s disappeared, and with them all the light again.

Arthur sighs. “They always have to have the last word, don’t they?”

Merlin laughs softly. “Not sure if that’s a royalty thing or a fairy thing, though.”

“Probably both,” Arthur says. “Is there really hot chocolate?”

“Yes,” Merlin says. He takes Arthur’s hand and pulls him back towards the path.

Just before they step out of the forest and into the driveway of the hotel, Arthur holds Merlin back and pulls him close.

“I love you,” he says quietly so as not to disturb the peace of the winter night.

“I know,” Merlin replies, and when they kiss, Arthur can feel Merlin’s smile against his lips.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅

**Author's Note:**

> Minor Character Death/Canonical Character Death: Uther dies off-screen at the beginning of the story. Balinor has been dead for several years but Hunith and Merlin are still grieving to varying degrees, and Hunith talks about the circumstances of Balinor's death. Ygraine, as well as Morgana's parents (Gorlois and Vivienne) have been dead long since before this story sets in.
> 
> Minor/Background pairings: Gwaine/Percival, Gwen/Lancelot, Elyan/Freya, Edwin/Sophia (barely mentioned)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](momotastic27.tumblr.com) :)


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